Alexandrite
by Annie Lockwood
Summary: After the war, Draco is given a mysterious secret heirloom. Suddenly, he is bombarded with nightmares about Hermione Granger—dead. In a race to stop the clock, Draco must realize he holds the power to rescue the one girl he wouldn't mind turning up dead.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing from the Harry Potter universe. _Nothing_. Though this story is completely mine and I came up with this idea, Harry Potter and the magical universe in which he resides do not belong to me.

**Warning**: This chapter contains torture.

**A/N:** This story was originally written quite some time ago. I had everything mapped out, the ending clear in my head, but then I stopped writing it for a while. When I came back to this story, I re-read what I had written and became very dissatisfied with the outcome. My writing mannerisms were horrid and the characters hardly held true to their personalities, which is something I really do try to display when I write fanfiction.

Due to my dissatisfaction, I re-did everything. The plot still remains the same as my previous attempt, but this version gives it far more depth and hopefully will satisfy my readers to the best of my ability. As for those who have already read the seventeen chapters of Alexandrite I had already written, I apologize. Hopefully, you will re-embark on this journey and be pleasantly surprised at where it takes you.

******Very Important**** **- On another note, let me just take this moment to fill you in on a little background of the story. When this prologue takes place, it is May 15, 1998, about two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts which took place on May 2, 1998. Ron and Hermione began "dating" immediately after the war was finished and by this point in the story have been dating for two straight weeks. With me thus far? Okay. Immediately following the war, Harry, Ron, and Hermione jumpstart their futures by swinging interviews with various departments in the Ministry of Magic. During this time, the remaining students and teachers of Hogwarts are spending the remainder of their term—term ends late or mid-June according to J.K.—helping rebuild the castle after the destruction.

I will be using both book and movie references in this story. The majority of this story takes place during the year 1998-1999.

Enjoy! Oh, and anyone who reviews gets a cookie!

-Annie

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><p><em><span>Prologue<span>_

* * *

><p><em>I've killed a million petty souls<br>But I couldn't kill you  
>I've slept so long without you<br>I see hell in your eyes  
>Taken in by surprise<br>Touching you makes me feel alive  
>Touching you made me die inside<em>

"_Slept So Long"—Jay Gordon_

* * *

><p>Hermione could sense something was off.<p>

The silky sky above was as crystalline blue as the calm waters of a Caribbean sea, with light puffs of cotton lazily drifting over the vast expanse of it all. It held inside it the many simplistic beauties that made nature so mysterious and captivating. The streets of London were calm, collected—strange for a normally bustling Monday afternoon. It was warm, but hardly one of those summer days that deemed it unbearable to take a stroll outside.

So where was everyone?

_Pop_.

Her eyes, which had been focusing on the strange emptiness of the city streets from within the darkness of the obscured alley, now flew toward the approaching figure. Instantly, her whole form went rigid.

"Relax, it's only me," Harry greeted her lightly, wrapping her in a one-armed hug.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry," she laughed at herself, rolling her toffee eyes as she returned his friendly embrace. "I knew it was you, I'm just—"

"Nervous?" he guessed with a smirk, knowing her far too well.

"Incredibly," Hermione answered breathlessly and Harry took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I've never had a job interview before—especially not one within the Ministry."

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, expressing just how nervous she really was.

"You'll do brilliantly, as always," he assured her. "I've never done this either, you know."

"Yes, and you're far too relaxed about all of this to be normal," Hermione accused, eyeing him suspiciously. "You're not an impostor, are you? Not trying to fool me with Polyjuice Potion?"

"Please," he scoffed. "I would never dare try to fool _you_—the repercussions of such an evil deed would surely be fatal. Anyway, I'm not scared of a bunch of wizards breathing down my back trying to see whether I'm good enough to be considered a part of their Auror system. I've conquered many things that were _much_ more frightening."

They were quiet for several more seconds before Hermione impatiently raised her eyes to her wristwatch to check the time.

"Where is Ron? He's supposed to have been—"

_Pop_.

"Ah, well, that answers my question," she said, squinting into the shadows.

The tall redhead emerged from the shadows, shaking his head of fiery hair. When he came to stand beside Harry, he was greeted by an unexpected ray of sunlight that had suddenly drifted over the shadowy alleyway to bathe them in heat. He jammed his eyes closed, lifting a long arm to cover his eyes. Within moments, the sudden burst of light drifted away, leaving them enclosed within shadows once more.

"I see you are inspecting your watch, Hermione," Ron noticed, frowning at her.

"Yes, well, you are—"

"Right on time," Ron remarked, jokingly flashing her a smile. "Your watch is just fast."

"Of course, why did I not think of that before?" teased Hermione, aiming a poke at him as she stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. "If you'd only told me that sooner, I would have fixed the problem by now."

He flushed, gazing down at her with twinkling blue eyes. He was not offhandedly handsome, but she would be calling herself superficial if she let good looks be the only source of attraction to someone. She knew his heart was right and pure, brave and strong. Hermione did not care that he was not the best-looking man in London—he was her boyfriend of two weeks now and that was all that mattered.

"We're running a bit behind schedule," Harry added, causing Ron to frown again. "We should get going or we'll all be late for the interviews."

Before Ron could retort and defend himself for whatever reason he was running late, Hermione pulled both of them into the walkway and started toward the cherry red phone booth that would take them down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

"Have either of you noticed how _not_ crowded the streets are today?" Ron muttered as a boy with shaggy long hair skateboarded past.

"It's not normal," Harry said, opening the phone booth door for me and Ron before stepping in himself and punching in the numbers that would direct them underground.

"Why do you think that is?" Ron wondered.

Neither Harry nor Hermione answered Ron's question—they did not have an answer. They continued underground in silence until they reached the Ministry, piling out and making their way toward the fountain. Mr. Weasley was waiting for the three of them there with a tight smile. Even the Ministry seemed fairly deserted.

"Where are all the guards?" Ron asked, voicing Hermione's own concerns.

Mr. Weasley grimaced.

"Security is pretty lax around here, so I'll be escorting each of you to and from your interviews."

"What do you mean security is _lax_?" Harry asked, frowning deeply. "We just finished a bloody war. There are still hoards of vengeful Death Eaters out there. Of all places, the Ministry of Magic should have the most security, not the least!"

"Harry, it isn't his fault, stop yelling at him," Hermione intoned softly.

Harry took in a deep breath only to blow it out again furiously as he calmed himself.

"It should be a pretty calm day," Mr. Weasley stated as they walked toward the elevator lifts. "All that's really going on are the hearings. We haven't caught many Death Eaters, so we can't convict them yet."

"Then what are _they_ doing here?" Ron snarled.

She sensed his presence before she saw him. He carried a type of chill with him, Draco Malfoy, one that would send easily frightened people running for the exit. That very same chill swept over her bones, but she had no desire to run.

He walked with a certain self-confident stride, brisk and quick. Yet, today his steps were slower, dragging. His bone white, long fingered hands were stuffed in the confines of his pockets, fiddling with the lint on his clothes. His hair was kept nicely, longer than usual, his penetrating gray eyes wide and nervous. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. He trailed behind his father, his mother rubbing circles in her son's back as if trying to comfort him.

Lucius Malfoy, whose pale blond hair was no longer swept to the nape of his neck in a perfect ribboned ponytail, looked like hell. His once sharp cut handsome features were now haunted and gaunt. His hair hung loosely in unkempt clumps, free of its ties. His normally clean and silky high priced robes were tattered and over sized, as if he'd lost a great deal of weight in a short span of time. Dark rings of purple and blue surrounded his bloodshot, wild eyes and his once clean shaven face was covered in deep stubble.

Narcissa Malfoy looked significantly better than her son and her husband with her blond hair twisted up in a fashionable up-do. Her dark blue eyes zipped around protectively, but she held her head high as they entered the lift opposite Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

"Ron!" Hermione chided.

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Ron snapped, rolling his eyes. "Just because Voldemort is dead doesn't erase that stupid prat's involvement with him. Or his parents."

"Ron, Draco Malfoy saved my life, as did his mother. Both of them lied to Voldemort about my identity and my fate," Harry stepped in.

"I can't believe you're actually defending him," Ron said disbelievingly.

Just then, Draco Malfoy caught sight of them, standing in the lift opposite his, arguing. When he caught Harry's eye, he gave him a stiff nod, completely unnoticed by his father and mother, who were staring at the single guard in the lift with them anxiously. I noticed that the guard had their wands.

"What are they doing here, Mr. Weasley?" asked Harry after returning Draco's nod.

"They have a hearing with the minister," Mr. Weasley said.

"You mean Kingsley?" Ron said.

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "Kingsley's the new minister?"

"Don't you read the Prophet, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Kingsley was put in office just two nights ago. That's most likely why the security around here isn't up to par yet, am I right?"

"You would be correct, once again, Hermione," Mr. Weasley replied fondly.

"But Kingsley's a former Auror—one of the best," Ron argued. "Shouldn't he know that security should be up around here?"

"Well, he's just barely become Minister, hasn't he?" Hermione defended. "There's a lot that comes with that title. I bet he hasn't even stepped foot within the Ministry since his inauguration with how busy he must be trying to track down Death Eaters and clean up the country."

"There's several Aurors protecting the perimeter, but most of them are either protecting Kingsley or off trying to solve that Death Eater problem in North Yorkshire," Mr. Weasley sighed, clearly not liking the situation any better than the rest of them.

Hermione blanched.

"What Death Eater problem in North Yorkshire?" she demanded, going rigid with paralyzing fear.

"What is it?" Harry and Ron asked in unison, noticing how pale she'd gotten.

"My parents live in Whitby, a small fishing village in North Yorkshire," she choked. "What Death Eater problem, Mr. Weasley? Why are they all the way over there?"

"I've no idea, Hermione," Mr. Weasley said gravely, looking perplexed. "They're hiding in small groups all over the country."

Hermione's heart beat wildly in her chest, her throat constricting.

"But they're on a _revenge hunt_, Mr. Weasley," she cried. "They know I'm best friends with Harry, who just killed _Lord Voldemort_! They could be after my parents!"

"Calm down," Ron whispered, taking her hand. "I doubt they even know who your parents are, much less their whereabouts."

Hermione still couldn't stay the horrible feeling bubbling within her stomach. She had only released her parents of their memory charm and picked them up from Australia a few days ago. She had gone back to Whitby with them—what if she'd been followed? They had been so upset with her for keeping them in the dark while she risked her life in a war that could have killed them all. She'd apologized and apologized but they were still upset with her. What if something had happened to them? What if she never got to say goodbye?

"I—I have to get home—I can't just—"

"Hermione, don't be absurd, you can't just go running off to a Death Eater hotspot!" Mr. Weasley said as she made to get out of the elevator lift, which strangely had not started moving yet.

As if only realizing this, Hermione took a step back, pushing in the buttons. Nothing happened.

"Why isn't the elevator moving?" she wondered and Mr. Weasley's frown deepened.

"Perhaps it's out of order?" Ron suggested. "Let's get out and get into another one, then."

Mr. Weasley attempted to open the doors of the lift, but again, nothing happened.

"Is the power out?" Harry asked.

"These aren't run by electricity, Harry," Hermione stated and they shared a glance.

"I don't like this," worried Mr. Weasley as he and Ron threw their bodies against the gates.

"It's just a malfunction," Hermione insisted, but even she couldn't calm the panic erupting in her veins.

"This kind of malfunction has never happened before, Hermione," Ron grunted, throwing his weight against the gate.

"I know that, but—what was that?"

Both Mr. Weasley and Ron stopped their efforts and turned to look back at Hermione and Harry, both of whom were listening closely to something in the distance.

"It sounds like pounding," Harry observed. "Like something is cracking—"

Suddenly, the wall opposite them, right next to the lift that had previously held the Malfoys, exploded. A massive blast shook the entire building, rattling the gate of the lift. Fragments of the wall lurched forward and crashed to the ground, scraping against the walls, rolling into the lift.

"What the bloody hell—?" Ron exclaimed, jumping back.

Smoke curled upward, blocking their view. Hermione squinted at the figures now emerging from the hole in the wall. They brushed the dust from their black billowing robes and held their wands in front of them, several laughing. To Hermione's horror, their faces were obscured by masks.

"Death Eaters," she whispered.

The four of them had already withdrawn their wands, but none of them dared breathe a spell.

"Maybe they won't notice us," Ron murmured as the four of them stepped back.

The lift creaked. Two of the near dozen Death Eaters spun around and squinted through the dusty air at their lift. One, a burly man, stepped forward and smiled a yellow smile, his teeth rotted with decay.

"Oi! I got somethin' o'er here," the Death Eater growled.

A high pitched laugh reverberated around the enclosed area as the second Death Eater stepped forward, her robes swirling around her tall, thin frame.

"Well done, Jugson," she cawed, slapping him on the back. "There's hope for you yet."

She stepped forward, just as the rest of the Death Eaters spotted the four of them.

"Well, well, well," she said, climbing onto the bars. "And who do we have here?"

"You're a bloody nutcase if you can't see who that lot is!" another man snarled, grabbing the woman by the neck of her robes and throwing her to the side. "Why that's Arthur Weasley, ain't it?

"_Weasley_?"

There were several hoots of laughter.

"And isn't that his freckly git of a son?" howled one of them.

Hermione clutched Ron's robes.

"Don't be stupid," she whispered roughly.

"Hey, Ginger! Who's your girlfriend?"

"Why, that's that Mudblood always running around with Potter, isn't it?"

Hermione, Ron, and Mr. Weasley were completely covering Harry by now, which he was not enjoying.

"Harry, stop fighting. They're after you, you pea brain," Ron hissed behind his shoulder.

"That's—exactly—why—"

And then there was another blast, one that blinded them and made their ears ring. Hermione, although completely befuddled by the new explosion, leapt toward Harry as Mr. Weasley and Ron began to fire spells into the dusty abyss. Hermione jabbed her wand into Harry's neck and began hissing the incantation she'd learned so well over her journey hunting Horcruxes.

Soon, Harry was invisible.

"_Ron_!" Mr. Weasley yelled as Ron came slamming into Hermione, blown backward from an unpleasant spell.

"Ron, get Harry out, now!" Hermione commanded, slamming Ron into Harry.

"Where's he at?" Ron wondered, quickly searching for something of Harry's to hold onto.

"You aren't taking me anywhere! I'm staying and fighting—"

Ron understood my panic and knew if there was any way of Harry exiting the Ministry safely, he had to get them both out and back to Headquarters.

"Be safe," she whispered, clutching Ron's hand. "Both of you."

"I can't leave you," Ron said, gripping her hand harder than he ever had before. "Not now, not when—"

"I know," Hermione said.

Mr. Weasley gave a strangled yelp from somewhere inside the dust and Hermione knew he was being outnumbered. Ron gave a stiff nod, understanding that this was neither the time nor the place for emotions. But before Ron could successfully manage an escape, the shields and wards Mr. Weasley had cast broke and the elevator was engulfed with curses.

Hermione shoved Ron and Harry through the crowd, covering Harry's invisible back with shield charms while Ron and Harry cast stunners and defensive spells. Ron disappeared from view, however, when Hermione was blasted backward, back into the lift with Mr. Weasley, who was fighting three Death Eaters all at once.

They were trapped inside.

"Afternoon, Mudblood," growled the man named Jugson, coming out of nowhere from behind her, trapping her in a headlock.

She couldn't breathe; his arms were like pythons squirming around her neck, cutting off her airflow. Her wand clattered to the ground as she was kicked in the stomach by another Death Eater.

"_Crucio_," another Death Eater shouted.

Pain such as nothing she'd ever endured before crippled Hermione. Her body convulsed and twitched under the curse, her bones rattling against her skin and she shook. She bit down hard on her lip to keep her screaming at bay, but this only angered the Death Eater more.

"Afraid, Mudblood?" giggled the female Death Eater from the right.

"_Hermione_!" screamed Mr. Weasley, lunging forward to her rescue, breaking his war against the three Death Eaters and throwing spells at those hurting her.

"No, Mr. Weasley! Just _go!_" Hermione shrieked.

The Death Eater cursing Hermione lifted his curse and pointed his wand at Mr. Weasley, shouting unpleasantly and blasting him backward. Mr. Weasley hit the broken jags of the gate, slicing his head open on the jagged areas of the broken metal. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious and bleeding profusely.

"Should we take him too?" asked one of the Death Eaters.

"The guards are comin'!" rumbled Jugson.

"Leave the old man," replied the woman. "Take the girl. She means more to Potter."

With another loud _pop_, Hermione was taken captive in the swirls of nausea and pulling. When Jugson had finally landed and the world became still again, Hermione gathered her remaining breath. She tried to fight, she really did, but Jugson was so enormous and he silenced her movements with his flexing muscles against her slender neck.

She did not recognize the area she was standing in. Jugson pulled me up an overgrown walkway, the shrubbery and moss unkempt and abandoned. The walkway was cracked and weeds stretched themselves longing across the speckled pavement, longing to greet the sun. The house Jugson wrenched her toward was a beautiful brick number—or at least might have been beautiful once—with a caved in roof and a crumpled chimney.

On the mailbox slot, right next to the black door, were the former letters of a name.

_R D LE _

Hermione could not make out what the name was, considering several letters were missing, and she didn't have enough time to figure it out, for Jugson pushed her face roughly against the doorframe and knocked rapturously.

"Password?" came a drawl from within the house.

Jugson muttered something undetectable and then raised Hermione's face to the peep hole, jamming his wand into the flesh of her snow white neck.

"Got the mudblood bait," he grunted and the door swung open in reply.

She was shoved into the foyer and instantly blindfolded and bound. The Death Eater that had allowed Jugson entrance shoved a piece of cloth into her mouth that tasted foul and dry, making her want to retch. She was jabbed and prodded continuously as she was shoved forward with no idea of where she was going.

"Take her to the panic room and bind her down," instructed the Death Eater in his nasally voice. "We'll send someone in to interrogate her later."

"And where's that?" Jugson grunted.

The other Death Eater sighed exasperatedly.

"Blast you, Jugson. _Goyle_ would be of more use than you, sometimes," he replied harshly. "Up the stairs and to the right—that means right, not left, you fool—till you come to the tapestry. Move it aside and rap on the wall three times. The bloke in charge of the station will see you coming from the cameras."

Hermione tripped several times as Jugson rammed her up the stairs. She furrowed her brow, trying to think of a way to escape this impending doom. She knew that being held captive inside a panic room—which meant it was sound-proof and very well concealed and armed—by a bunch of revenge-thirsty Death Eaters would not be a good thing, especially if they were going to interrogate her about her involvement with Harry Potter.

She found it difficult to breathe through her parched throat. She was very, very frightened, as was such cases when she no longer held control of a situation. She'd been tortured once before—the knife wound marks still remained on her chest from when Bellatrix had sliced her skin at Malfoy Manor.

There was a loud pounding noise, which she assumed to be Jugson banging on the wall of the panic room to gain entrance. A loud groaning noise echoed around her and she tripped once more as she was shoved over the rim and into a frighteningly cold atmosphere. It smelled heavily of polished metal.

"Bloody clumsy brute," muttered Jugson. "What you want me to do wif it?"

_It_? Hermione snarled silently. _I'm not considered _human_ now?_

"Tie her hands behind the back of that chair, there," came another voice, lower and more calm than Jugson's. "I will do the rest. You will wait outside as a lookout. When the examiner comes, let him pass."

_Examiner_?

The wall shut on Jugson's departure.

It was silent for quite some time, except for a small electrical whining noise in the corner, which she guessed was the cameras or computer systems.

"Well, Mudblood, as much as I'd love to stay in here with you and keep your dirty blood company, I have other obligations that need my assistance. You may thank me later for your privacy," the Death Eater said moments later. "Don't cry _too_ hard at my absence."

The wall slammed shut and Hermione was left to silence, all except for the electrical beeping in the corner. She hated being blind to her surroundings, hated not being able to see the faces of her captors.

_Oh, Ron. Harry. What am I going to do? I don't know how to stop this. I'm so scared,_ Hermione thought brokenly, wishing horribly that her best friends would break through this nightmare at any given moment. But this was not Malfoy Manor, and Harry and Ron weren't trapped in a cellar below her, hearing her scream of her innocence. They didn't know where she was.

It seemed like hours before the wall creaked open again and light, determined footfalls enveloped the eerie silence of the panic room. The footsteps paused just in front of her and a small intake of breath made Hermione shiver.

"You must be the bait," guessed the newcomer.

His voice was deep and whispery, a dark rasp, hardly discernable. He did not sound familiar.

"My, my," he clucked and Hermione froze as a cold finger traced her cheekbone. "They did not warn me that you were—so _feminine_."

The way he whispered this made Hermione's stomach crawl backward toward her spine in repulsion.

"It is a rare occasion that one with such muddy veins holds this much awakening beauty," he continued darkly. "You were a late bloomer, weren't you, Mudblood?"

As he said this, his fingers swept downward toward the hollow of her neck, teasing her collarbone with his spidery touch. She jerked away, shouting out against the gag blocking her voice box.

"Oh, yes," he inhaled deeply, fingering her hair. "I'm going to have so much fun with you."

She gave another pitiful guttural sound against her gag.

"Hm? What was that?" he asked and teasingly touched her lips. "Should I remove this for you?"

Hermione nodded, whimpering.

"If only you promise not to scream," he conditioned.

She nodded once more and he pulled the cloth from her mouth.

"Ah, such pretty lips," he said, gently grazing her bottom lip with his fingernail.

"Don't touch me," she snarled, earning a throaty laugh from the Death Eater.

He was silent for some time, his footsteps echoing around her as he circled her.

"I will never betray Harry to you," she promised after several minutes.

"Is that so?" he questioned. "Very well. Then you shall die for him. Everyone on the Light will die for him."

"We would rather die honorably by defending someone we love than to succumb to a pathetic life of hatred, manipulation, and coldness," Hermione snapped, shuddering at the fingers snaking their way through her hair. "Voldemort had no power over any of us and he never will."

"You speak the Dark Lord's name," he noticed bitterly. "Such Gryffindor bravery does not become you. If only you were more _compliant_, you would be a wonderful asset to this cause."

Hermione glared against the blindfold.

"I shall _never_ join your filthy ranks," she hissed.

"_Filthy_? You dare to assume _we_ are _filthy_?" he shouted, suddenly very angry. The change was so sudden and so terrible that Hermione flinched. "_You_ my hideous little wretch, are the one that is _filthy_, you pathetic, impudent little mudblood!"

And something hard collided with the back of her head, pitching her forward against the straps binding her. The ropes burned and chafed into the skin of her wrists. She saw stars against the blackness of the blindfold.

"Consider that your warning," the Death Eater growled. "You have one more hour to contemplate our offer and give us your information willingly. When that hour is up and you still have not decided, I shall result to _other_ means. Rest while you can, filth."

And then the wall slammed shut. Left alone to her thoughts again, Hermione began to think of strategies, but none would be successful. The hour was ticking away and though Hermione continued to devise a plan, one thought kept forcing its way back into her brain—a picture of four letters, stamped out on the mailbox of the very house she was being kept in. _R D LE_.

She began to work out various words that would fit with those letters. It was obviously a surname since it was printed on the residence's mail slot. But what was the name? Rudile? Ridile? Redale?

"_Riddle_," Hermione gasped. "Of course! Why didn't I see it before?"

It made complete since. Where else would vengeful Death Eaters take shelter, if not the former home of their master? If they were to lure Harry here, they would plan on killing him on the very rocks that Lord Voldemort once resided. And it made sense that Voldemort's Muggle father would have a panic room. He was described as superstitious, paranoid, and filthy rich. If he was so terrified that a wizard would invade his humble abode one day, why wouldn't he have the highest of Muggle protection inside his home?

Now, if there was only _some_ way that Hermione could get this message across to Harry. But before Hermione could come up with something, the wall was moved aside once more. Hermione froze and swallowed hard, licking her dry lips.

"_Mmm_," whispered his sibilant voice. "How I've missed you already and the night has not even begun. Have you mulled over my offer?"

"There was no need for thought," Hermione stated. "I made up my mind long ago against cowards like you."

"Then you shall die, forgotten inside this room," the Death Eater said through gritted teeth.

"Kill me, then," Hermione challenged.

A wand prodded into her jugular.

"How tempting an offer, my dear Mudblood," he whispered and then withdrew his wand. "But I'm afraid I can't allow that. Now, I will give you one more chance, because I'm that kind of a man. Now, tell me where Potter is and I shall set you free."

"No."

"Ah, how shameful," he sighed. "Well, in that case—_Crucio_!"

She had not been expecting such a cruel curse. She lunged in the bindings that fastened her to the chair, straining for escape, release—anything but this. She gritted her teeth, moaning inside her throat against the ripples of screams that threatened to break loose.

"Such strength," he noted and then stepped closer. "But I can do this all night, Mudblood. Shall I give you a stronger dose?"

_No, please,_ Hermione cried silently, but she could not open her mouth. She would not beg. She felt the curse rise higher in intensity, so much so that she began to rock back and forth, lashing dangerously against the chair, yet it did not budge—perhaps it was nailed to the ground? Her wrists burned from chafing, but the more she tried to sit still the more the intensity of the pain rose.

"Go on, go on," he egged, prodding her roughly in the chest with the point of his wand. "Let it out, you bloody bint. _Scream_ for me."

He shoved his wand into her stomach harder. The pain heightened by several more degrees until Hermione's whole form was on fire. Her skin was charring off, she was being stabbed, clawed, bitten, roasted alive—

The scream erupted from her throat with such shrillness and volume, it vibrated like a ghostly wail around the metallic room for _several_ seconds. She sobbed, but noticed that the horrible pain was still continuing, making her throat itch for another shriek of pain.

"Such a glorious sound, your screaming," he hissed, chuckling darkly. "Like angels singing. Won't you do it for me again, Mudblood? Will you sing for me again?"

"_Please_," she bawled as he raised the levels of pain higher.

She convulsed so sporadically that if the chair had not been nailed down, she would have toppled over and splintered herself. The flesh of her wrists was rubbed raw, the ropes biting savagely into her skin. Another horrible shriek ripped apart her chest, breaking out of her throat and splintering her lips as it flew away with the rest of her breath.

And then it was gone. Her body twitched repeatedly, but there was no more new pain. Her breaths were hungry and shallow and her throat was inflamed.

"Changed your mind yet, princess?" he asked.

She shook her head vehemently.

"Pity. You and I would have made such a wonderful pair," he stated. "I'll give you a while to recuperate and think things over. But let me warn you. It's worse the second time."

And then he was gone.

Hermione sat motionless in the chair, wheezing horrendously. Her hair, which had only hours ago been golden and full of luscious buoyancy, now lay flattened and damp across her face. Her skin, once creamy and cool, was cracked and on fire. Her arms ached against the bonds bending her arms in the most uncomfortable of way. The itchy rope clamped around her wrists and ankles seared into her flesh like hot coals, reminding her that there was no escape. If only she had a wand!

_Don't come back_, she begged silently. _Please, just go away and never come back. _

But her hopes were grim and thinned as the sickening sound of the wall moving back into place thudded around her. The torturous maniac entered the metallic prison with loud steps, swinging the wall shut behind him. His silky robes billowed against her legs as he shifted in front of her. His cold fingers brushed against her blindfold like the chill of death.

"Did you miss me_, filth?_"

The sibilant hiss shattered ominously around the room, bouncing off the walls before slapping her verbally across the face. She twitched in response to his voice. He took a step forward again, his dress shoes clapping the floor. One bony finger rustled with the fabric of his cloak and greeting her neck like a curious spider. He traced the skin of her neck slowly, raising shivers along her skin, before resting on the dimple of her chin. His skeletal appendages lifted her chin, bringing her face closer to the blackness under his hood.

Oh, how she wished she could _see_!

"I _said_, did you _miss_ me?"

Hermione tore her face away from the monster's icy touch. His voice still remained the same—low, deep, and grating; a growl that would never be recognized.

"Answer me, Mudblood!" he demanded, his black rage rising in the single absence of her voice.

His cutting slap could be heard before she felt it, and when she did, the searing pain shocked her numb body like a thousand knives. Hermione understood his statement of it being worse the second time, now. That was why he had left for those few blissful minutes. He had given her false hope that it was over, at least for a while, so that her emotions would react freshly when he touched her once more. Her despair would return with more force and power than the first, because now she knew what to expect, if not worse. And he would triumph over her again.

Still, Hermione remained silent, fighting with the last will she had inside her stone-beating heart. Another painful punch to her jaw had her crying out and he chuckled maniacally against her hair.

"There you are," he whispered.

Hermione glared heinously into her blindfold. Her narrowed eyes would have intimidated most had they fallen victim to it—in fact it would have made them run away screaming, but this man seemed to have no fear. What would a silly school girl's glare do to a vile monster like him?

He laughed as she shifted away from him—an evil, humorless, black laugh. Involuntary razor sharp shivers sliced up her spine.

"Oh, my pitiful little mudblood. Do you really think you are _strong_?" he taunted. "You are _weak_, Mudblood. You are going to die a shriveled up skeleton in a pool of your own hideously diseased blood. No one is coming for you."

"Why don't you just kill me, then?" Hermione wondered hoarsely, her eyes burning fire into the blindfold.

"Oh, is that what you want? You want me to end your life, don't you? Well, I'm not going to do that, wench. You're going to scream for me _forever_."

Despair overtook her barely beating heart, so much that at first she was blinded by the blackness surrounding her foggy mind. Her breaths were ragged as she sucked in, willing herself to be strong, and waited.

_Do it_, she pleaded. _Just do it already and get it over and done with. _

Hermione waited in the dark, blind. She didn't want to scream, but it had not been something that she had been expecting. The raw, scathing metal blade ripped apart her sleeve and severed her skin. Deep. Deeper it went. Blood pooled over and slithered to the ground, dripping and splashing. She hollered in shocked horror, listening to the blood as it wept from her veins. A cut here. A cut there. Her neck was bleeding. Her arm was burning. Another curse, another knife, another taunting remark.

"Your blood is tainted. Look at it flow," he whispered sadistically. "I wonder how tainted blood tastes, Mudblood? Does it taste excruciatingly dirty? Or does it taste so sinfully exciting that it is dangerously addictive?"

Her head was spinning.

"Ron—_Harry_—"

"Your pathetic playmates aren't here to rescue you this time, Mudblood. You are mine. _Mine_!"

The torture continued for several more minutes—or was it hours? Her throat ached from the screams ripping apart her chest.

"_Oh, yes,_" he hissed, biting into her bleeding neck. She screamed and thrashed about in her chains. He chuckled darkly in her ear. "Yes, sing for me again. There's my girl."

She sobbed, despairing.

"Oh, princess," he exhaled and she shifted away from his hard grip. "I wish Potter could see what I'm doing to his precious little mudblood. I think I'll kill Potter slowly when he comes for you. Why, you ask? Because the Dark Lord is _dead_!"

His angry fingers clawed into the flesh of her cheek.

"Harry will kill you," vowed Hermione.

"Unlikely," the Death Eater growled. "Now, my wicked little guttersnipe, let's see what _other_ taints you have on you."

Hermione shuddered, repulsed as he sauntered closer, running his hands up the buttons of her blouse until he reached the hollow of her neck again. He slid the knife across her skin, slowly, playfully. She understood that this was no longer a mechanism to persuade her to join the Dark. No, it was much worse than that now. She was his toy, completely in his hands to do whatever he pleased and there was no way she could stop him.

The wintry blade of the knife traveled slowly down her neck and she let out a shuddery gasp as it tore through the top of her blouse. There was a rustling of fabric as he knelt in front of her, parting her clamped legs so that he rested between them, and kissed the skin on her exposed flesh. She quivered, feeling the bile churning toward her throat. He slowly and carefully removed the blouse from its tucked place in the waistband of her skirt.

And then there was pain. Hot, tearing pain. It was like razor sharp teeth had embedded themselves inside her stomach. Her head bent down and Hermione whimpered, feeling the knife creep deeper into her abdomen, even as he kissed her flesh. Rich, dark liquid bubbled to the surface and trickled down her pale body.

After he was satisfied with his new carving, he stood again. He circled behind her for endless, agonizing seconds. And then he was on her again, the knife positioned on her throat. His breath was moist and hot against her as his hand traveled down to her wound, prodding his fingers into the deep gash so that she opened her mouth and screamed, even as his death's lips forced themselves upon hers, and his tongue demanded entrance.

Frustrated, he broke his heated assault of her mouth and curled his fingers tightly around her hair, yanking hard.

"Struggle again and I carve a pretty drawing into the skin of something _else_," he threatened and Hermione winced at the thought as his knife tickled the skin of her kneecap.

He locked his lips with hers again, but she was unresponsive as stone. The monster was quaking now with anger and forced his tongue past her lips. She whimpered in disgust, unaware that he had raised his dagger again, slowly tracing it up her leg and toward the opening of her skirt, pressing hard into her thigh.

She acted upon fear and instinct, pressing her lips hard against his she kissed him back with such wild force that it quieted his every movement. The dagger clattered to the floor with a _clang_, his death hands gripping her face, pulling on her hair.

"You damnable _whore_!" he shrieked and Hermione fell back against her chair, spitting out a trickle of salty blood. "You _bit_ me! You demented _animal_!"

His hands shook with fury, searching for something left discarded on the floor. His blade came down again, slicing her thigh open deeply. She screeched. He chuckled darkly, anger now evident in his voice.

"That was _not_ smart, Mudblood. Now you're _really_ going to scream."

And she did.


	2. Effects

**Disclaimer: ** I own nothing—nothing, I tell you!—from the Harry Potter franchise.

**A/N: **_Well_, I hope that no one is _too_ scared by the previous chapter. And if any of you are confused, I'm betting that the majority of your questions—who was the "examiner", what about Draco, what happens next?—will be answered in the upcoming chapters. If not, please ask your questions and tell me your woes and I shall answer to the best of my ability!

A special thanks to **Bookz24, Hyruleepona, Vigilante3,** and** deathpale! **I'm so glad that some of my old readers have returned to take this journey with me _again_! Thanks for pointing out my point of view mistakes—I've been writing in first person in the majority of my other fanfictions for some time now and so I'm struggling, haha! Hopefully I corrected the typos. And **Hyruleepona**, your answer will come in this chapter, so keep reading!

So, with all of that said, what'd you guys think of the prologue? And more importantly, let me know of what you think about this chapter!

I sincerely love hearing from you all, and if you review, Draco will give you cookies! So, enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>One <span>_

_Effects_

* * *

><p><em>The fire came and went; took everything away.<br>The bruises never heal.  
>I tried to take a breath to say what wasn't said<br>but there is nothing left of me no, there is nothing left.  
>I want to believe in someone.<br>I want to believe in something.  
>I want to believe that I can love again. <em>

"_What We Will Never Know"—Innerpartysystem_

* * *

><p>The screaming is what broke her slumber.<p>

Hermione's pale body lurched forward, her soaking hair slapping against her bare skin like a stinging, frozen whip. She was furiously cold, chilled to the bone and shaking. Fierce tremors trembled over her body and she convulsed.

It took only a few moments to realize that the horrifying screams that had woken her were hers.

_"Let's see what other taints you have on you."_

Sobbing, her wet eyes lowered to her stomach and she flinched. She traced the long white line across her stomach, winding over the pale branches of her scars. Her fingers hovered just above her thigh and flinched again, allowing her cold fingers down the long line at the back of her leg.

_"You filthy whore!_"

She inspected her arms obsessively, still sobbing loudly. Blue veins crisscrossed under her nearly translucent skin, thin and spidery, covered by tiny white marks. To everyone else, these scars would never be seen. But to her, they would always be magnified and ugly, always there, always reminding her.

Was that horrible wheezing sound—like that of a dying animal—really her? Horrified by this revelation, she clamped her mouth shut until the fit subsided, biting down on her white knuckles with her teeth, allowing physical pain to break the internal pain inside her. Then, with all the strength she could muster, she tried to calm.

She scratched her neck with her blood red fingernails, cringing at the scars on the sides of her neck, hidden by her long, bouncy hair. She'd grown out her hair for that very purpose—to hide it all. But she couldn't hide. She'd never be free. He was everywhere, forever marked upon her. She scratched and rubbed her skin raw, trying to erase his presence.

She could distantly hear a pounding on the bathroom door, a muffled shouting noise from the opposite side. And then, as her ears began to adjust, the banging got louder. The door began to quake and she huddled inward, pulling up her knees to her chest and hiding herself, fearful of where she was. She couldn't remember. It seemed so familiar, but her eyes were tired, her body was frozen, and her brain kept replaying his voice, over and over again in her head until her entire world began to—

_Bang_.

The door crashed down with a horrible crunching noise and Hermione screamed in terror.

"Hermione! Are you—?" Harry shouted.

Hermione's head sprung up and her tear-filled eyes looked toward her best friend, thankful that is was truly him and not the monster that haunted her dreams. Harry looked dazed and shaken, his eyes wild in fear and urgency. But then his green eyes bulged and he suddenly yelped, tripping over the door, his hand covering his glasses.

And that was when Hermione remembered where she was. No _wonder_ she was so cold! She must have fallen asleep while taking her evening bath! And now Harry was—

"Harry!" she shrieked, lunging forward to grab the shower curtain. It screeched against the metal rail as she yanked it around the bathtub and shielded her nude body from the boy she'd known for years.

"Sorry, sorry, _so sorry_!" Harry kept shouting.

Hermione heard him fumbling around for something. That very same something hit the shower curtain softly and dropped to the ground. She peered carefully around the curtain and noticed he'd thrown her a towel. He was still hiding in the corner of the bathroom, his eyes jammed shut, his back to her.

"D-Don't look y-y-yet," Hermione instructed with chattering teeth and saw Harry nod rapidly.

She clutched the towel and stood weakly to her feet in the cold water, wrapping the towel securely around her trembling body. Then, she moved back the curtain, attempting to step out of the golden rod bathtub—no doubt belonging to the overzealous Walburga Black, the mistress of 12 Grimmauld Place before she died—but lost her balance, shrieking as she caught herself on the curtain before she could splash back into the cold water.

"H-Harry? The v-v-view is safe," she chattered. "C-Could you h-help me?"

He answered her by turning around and hesitantly lowering his hands, coming hastily over to her.

"Here, wrap your arm round my shoulder," he ordered and she did as he asked, clutching the fabric of his navy shirt.

He wormed his arm around her waist and hoisted her out of the bathtub. He turned to uncork the old fashioned drain, but as he left her, Hermione drooped shakily, catching herself luckily on the sink with a slippery hand. He swore under his breath and immediately grabbed her waist again.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked, though he knew what the answer was. "Merlin, you're shaking so bad. How long were you asleep for?"

Hermione shivered in response, unable to form words. Her head was spinning and her eyes were unfocused. She clutched him desperately, feeling abnormally weak.

"Too long," Harry guessed and then suddenly swooped her up into his arms, cradling her to his chest. He grunted as he stepped over the door. "Have you eaten today?"

"N-No," she replied. "I-I was b-bored when you were a-at work. I was cl-l-eaning and got—"

"Distracted," he finished, gripping her tighter as he pushed open another door. "That's probably why you are so weak. And you know you aren't supposed to be cleaning this house. That's Kreacher's job—no don't give me that; he needs to stay busy and you know it. You've got to stop exhausting yourself like this 'Mione. It's scaring me."

"I'm f-f-fine," she said, attempting to sound stern through her chattering teeth.

"Let's get you dressed," Harry said and began searching through her closet. "Ah, here, there's a shirt—and some jeans—and I'm guessing this is an undershirt?"

Hermione rolled her eyes despite herself as Harry threw various items onto her neatly made bed—well, actually, it wasn't _hers_. That wasn't the correct term. She was simply borrowing Walburga's former bedroom—apparently Walburga and her husband never slept in the same bedroom—until the end of summer.

The room was hardly what Hermione would call her cup of tea. Its walls were a dark plum, the bedspread on the queen sized bed was made of dark silk and rich, warm cotton, and the room was decorated in fashionable jewels and baubles never claimed by her living relatives. Hermione was certain that, should Walburga Black—Sirius's mother—still be alive, she would have one or two things to say about Hermione staying the summer in her former bedroom.

"There, that should do it," Harry said, clapping his hands together. "I'll—er—just be outside, then."

"Harry."

He stopped. "Yeah?"

Hermione blushed, clearing her throat.

"Harry, you've forgotten some very important articles of clothing," Hermione told him weakly and at his look of confusion, she sighed. "My undergarments?"

"Ah," he choked, clearing his own throat as he shuffled back into the room and opened her drawers in search of said 'undergarments'. "Er—will these do?"

Hermione nodded, reddening further as he passed them to her, avoiding her eyes.

"Thank you. I'll be out in a moment," she said and he shut the door.

It took more strength than she had as she stood not to faint from exhaustion, fatigue, and hunger, but she somehow managed to dress without doing so. When she had buttoned the last button on her blue plaid blouse, she managed to walk to the door and open it.

Harry was leaning against the neighboring wall, whistling and staring up at a speck on the ceiling. When he noticed Hermione, he immediately wrapped his arm around her waist and slung her arm around his shoulder, helping her down the three flights of stairs and into the kitchen. He deposited her in one of the wooden chairs in the kitchen and set off to scavenge through the cupboards.

"Harry?" Hermione wondered.

"Hm?"

"Just what exactly are you doing?"

"Er—well, I'm—uh—looking for spaghetti noodles," he replied. "I know we bought some just the other day—"

_He's so hopeless on his own_, Hermione thought bemusedly.

"In the cupboard next to the stove," Hermione said and he plucked the noodles out.

"Right—and I don't suppose you know where the _pans_ are, do you?"

Hermione laughed, pointing to the bottom cupboard next to the stove.

"Can you manage to find the red sauce and the silverware on your own, or should I help you with those, too?" Hermione teased and Harry stuck out his tongue at her.

"No, thanks, I think I can manage from here," he said, shooting her a playful smile.

"So, you're making dinner," observed Hermione, quirking her eyebrow at Harry as he began to boil water.

"Yes," he replied. "It's not _that_ odd. Plus, I promised Ginny that I'd cook for her tonight, but she never told me what she wanted me to cook, so I just thought I'd stick with my famous spaghetti."

"Yes, I quite like your spaghetti," Hermione chuckled. "So, Ginny's joining us for dinner this evening?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot to run that by you, didn't I?" Harry said, scratching his neck. "I mean, if it's a problem I can always—"

"Oh, Harry, stop it," Hermione clucked. "Ginny's like a sister to me. Why would I be against her coming over? Actually, I think you've been rather unfair, keeping her away from me for this long. I miss her."

"Well, I still should have run it by you first, since you're living here too and all."

"Harry, I'm only bunking with you for the summer on _your_ insistence, might I remind you," Hermione stated. "Ginny's welcome to come over whenever she pleases."

"Alright, alright," Harry laughed, dumping the noodles into the pan.

"Don't forget to drop in some olive oil," she reminded him and he furrowed his brow. "It helps the noodles not clump together."

He did as she instructed and, after a few more minutes of stirring, he abandoned his pot and settled in a chair beside her.

"Ginny mentioned she might want to stay the night," Harry mentioned, his fingers tracing a black spot on the wooden table.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"Not like that!" Harry exclaimed, his flesh burning scarlet. "I only meant that she has missed you and I just thought you'd like to go to the station together tomorrow."

She had almost forgotten about returning to Hogwarts tomorrow. Worriedly, she bit her bottom lip.

"Will you be seeing us off then?" she asked.

"Yes."

"It seems odd, going back to Hogwarts without you and Ron," she stated quietly.

"It'll be good for you, I reckon," said Harry. "You need some time before you jump back in. The Ministry wouldn't be a good place for you right now. Trust me, I know."

"You don't think I'm being weak, do you?" she sighed.

Harry shot her a look.

"Absolutely not. Look Hermione, just because Ron and I have jobs right now and that is the best thing for us, doesn't mean that it is the best thing for _you._ I don't expect you out there yet, not after everything that happened this summer. You _need_ Hogwarts, Hermione. It's just one year and then you'll be ready."

"You're right," Hermione conceded, attempting to stop her worried thoughts. "I guess I'm nervous to go back without you two."

"You'll have Ginny, though," Harry offered and Hermione smiled.

"Harry, you do realize you've brought up Ginny continuously for the past fifteen minutes, right?"

Immediately, Harry went red again and stood up from his chair to check on the noodles.

"Oh, look at that, almost done," he muttered.

"_Harry_," Hermione pressed, smiling as her friend sighed heavily and turned around.

"What?"

"When are you going to make things official with her again?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "I know you want to be in a relationship with her again, so why aren't you?"

"Hermione, it's not that easy—it's complicated," he argued. "This isn't the best time—she's going to be back at school and I'm still working for the Auror department—it's dangerous, especially with all those Death Eaters still at large and after everything that's—"

"This _isn't_ about what happened to me over the summer, Harry Potter," Hermione nearly shouted, banging her fist on the table as she shakily rose to her feet. Her soaking hair dripped bubbles of moisture onto the wooden surface of the table. "Don't you dare turn this on me. What happened to me was—"

She took a steadying breath to calm herself as the pictures from her nightmare slammed back into her head.

"Look," she continued, calmer now, "Ginny cares about you. It won't matter to her about the circumstances. She's been waiting for you for over a year now, Harry. Don't keep her waiting any longer than she has to. She understands that there will be trials that come between you two, that there will always be danger, and that she's not going to be able to see you all the time, but don't you think she deserves to know the truth? She deserves to know how you feel, Harry."

"You're right," Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I guess I just—I don't want anything to happen to her. But you're right. I'll tell her tonight."

"Good," Hermione said, collapsing back into her seat.

The kitchen was silent for several more minutes before Hermione realized Harry was still staring at her.

"What is it?"

"You had another nightmare tonight."

It wasn't a question.

"It was stupid," Hermione said, trying to wave it off. "I fell asleep in the bathtub and had a bad dream. It's nothing."

"Really," Harry said, arching an eyebrow. "I don't believe you. You're a rotten liar, Hermione."

"I am not—"

"Fine. You're rotten at lying to _me_, then. Better?"

Hermione ignored this, folding her arms.

"Talk to me, 'Mione," he insisted, abandoning his spaghetti again.

When she did not respond, he came to her and knelt beside her chair, taking her hand in his. It was warm against her chilled flesh and she turned to him, tears pricking her eyes.

"Will it ever be over, Harry?" she choked. "I thought—the nightmares—I'd thought they'd gone away. And then tonight, there he was—"

"He's gone, Mione. He's never coming back."

"You don't know that," Hermione despaired.

"I _do_," Harry said, somewhat harshly. "He will never touch you again."

Instead of arguing with Harry, Hermione shook her head and pushed back her tears, calming herself into believing his words. Harry was right. Sure, the Death Eater problem was not as bad as it had previously been, but they were still at large and dangerous, not to mention all of their supporters. But Hermione knew that she was protected now with Harry and Ron and the majority of the Order taking back the Ministry. He would never hurt her again.

_Ding-dong._

"Was that the doorbell?" Hermione wondered, breaking out of her reverie as a deep gonging noise spread throughout the base of the Black household.

"I'll get it," Harry said, rising from the tiled floor. "Watch the spaghetti, will you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and lifted herself out of her chair, slowly treading over to the stove. The noodles were definitely finished. She grabbed a strainer and dumped the noodles into a porcelain bowl, setting it lightly on the table before doing the same with the red sauce.

"—got off early. Sturgis had to leave early—his wife just went into labor—and so my team got the night off. Brilliant, yeah?"

Hermione's back stiffened as Ron's voice carried in through the drawing room adjacent to the kitchen. It had been only a week since she'd last seen him, because he had been so busy in his training sessions, but it had seemed so much longer. He'd left last time with a chaste kiss on her lips, hardly the affection worthy of keeping her company during a week of loneliness. Since then, she'd been thinking—

"So, I decided I'd tag along with Ginny, see how my best friend is," Ron laughed. "I never see you at work anymore, now that we've switched training teams."

Though the boys' voices carried on louder and louder as they approached, it was not Harry and Ron who first appeared in the kitchen doorway. A petite and lithe young woman swept in with a dazzling smile, her russet hair held up elegantly in a bun by a purple butterfly barrette—one that Hermione had given her for her birthday.

"Hermione!" the redhead exclaimed, darting toward her friend.

"Ginny, you're here so soon!" Hermione laughed, returning the embrace. "I wasn't expecting you for at least thirty more minutes."

"Well, I was desperate to see you," she said. "It was such a bore toady and I couldn't stand waiting around, so I came early. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Hermione replied. "I'm sorry to hear your day was unsatisfactory."

"Well, we all have those days," Ginny sighed, sinking into a chair.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Wow, this smells incredible," Ginny commented, inhaling deeply. "Did he make this himself? Or was it you?"

"No, it was all him," Hermione replied.

"Well, I'm impressed," Ginny said.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Hermione and Ginny simultaneously turned to face Harry, followed closely by Ron. Ginny offered Harry a flattering smile, sharing a moment. But Hermione's focus did not last long on the lovebirds. Her attention was stolen almost immediately by her boyfriend as he awkwardly shuffled into the kitchen.

"Hello, Ron," she greeted, offering him a timid smile.

He gave her a small wave, smiling at her. Her stomach knotted tightly and she swallowed, feeling uncomfortable.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" she asked, avoiding his eyes.

"I'd love to, if you don't mind," he answered, looking questioningly between Harry, Ginny, and Hermione.

"Not at all," Ginny deadpanned, not looking excited in the least at this news.

Minutes later, the friends were all seated around the dinner table, Ginny and Hermione on one side, Harry and Ron on the other. On one end of the table, Harry and Ginny were talking quietly, sharing blushes and smiles with twinkling eyes. On the other end of the table, Hermione sat across from Ron, watching as he forked noodles into his mouth, his blue eyes occasionally lifting to meet hers. In those small moments when their eyes would meet, he would smile lightly, before returning to his meal, as if eating was too distracting an ordeal for him to maintain conversation with her.

Hermione sighed bitterly as she set her fork down on the remains of her pasta. Her appetite suddenly vanished as the tightening in her stomach returned. She frowned.

_I won't do it_, she said to herself, staring down at the swirls of red sauce and starch-filled noodles on her plate. _I don't know if I _can_ do it. But can I really do _this—_whatever _this_ is—anymore? But I—I'll miss him so much and—and all the times we've shared—all our years of friendship—will we even be _able_ to stay friends?_

"Hermione? You okay?"

Ginny lightly shook her arm and Hermione shook her head, clearing her throat.

"I suppose I'm just not hungry," she replied simply and rose from the table to deposit her dishes in the sink.

Ginny joined her by the sink moments later. She sent her a questioning glance as she began to rinse off her plate.

"I'm not buying it," Ginny said under her breath so that the men could not hear her. "What's _really_ going on?"

Hermione bit her lip, sucking in a breath, trying to steel herself.

"I think I've finally decided," Hermione whispered brokenly.

"Decided what—?" said Ginny, but at Hermione's teary eyes, recognition breezed across her own. "Oh. _Oh_, Hermione."

Ginny clutched Hermione's hand, giving her strength. She looked as equally sad as Hermione did.

"Are—Are you certain?" Ginny wondered. "Because if you aren't sure, you don't have to—But I mean, if you want to later—Merlin, I didn't think this day would really come."

"Ginny, I—I just can't do this anymore; neither can he. I can see it in his eyes every time he looks at me lately. If a stranger was to look at us, they'd never believe we have been dating for almost five months."

"Both of you have just lost your way—"

"No," Hermione declared. "_I've_ lost my way. He's finally found his way, he's finally making something of his life. What I keep doing to him isn't fair. He's moved on with his future and I'm only holding him back."

"This isn't your fault, Hermione," Ginny told her, eyes hard. "Don't go blaming yourself for something that shouldn't be put on you. Sometimes, relationships just need time."

"Ginny, please don't try to talk me out of this again. Me staying with him, with all this doubt, is just ripping a bigger hole in our already messed up relationship—if you can even call it that now. Please, will you just tell him I'd like to talk to him? I'll be in the piano room. Please understand, Ginny. I _have_ to do this."

Ginny nodded, knowing it was true but hating it all the same. When Ginny returned to the table, acting as if nothing had happened, Hermione discretely ducked out of the kitchen and into the piano room. This was the only room that Hermione took comfort in. It was a tiny room with a worn couch, a brilliant fireplace, and an ebony grand piano.

Swallowing, Hermione sat down at the piano and began to tinker with the keys, drawing strength from the music as it echoed around her. She greatly loved the piano, having taken lessons from age three. She hadn't been able to play the piano much, considering the only time she could was at home during the holidays, but at Grimmauld Place, Hermione played the piano every day until her fingers ached.

"Ahem."

Hermione spun in her seat, several ivory keys clunking as her elbow caught them in her surprise. Ron stood next to the couch, staring into the crackling fire—the Black's home always carried a draft, even in the summertime. After a few seconds, he turned his blue eyes toward her in question.

"Ginny said you wanted to talk to me," he said.

Hermione nodded, rising from the velvet cushioned piano bench.

"Maybe we should sit down," she suggested and Ron nodded.

Together they sat down on the worn cushions of the couch, leaving at least six inches of space between them. Hermione stared at her hands, unsure of how to go about this—she'd never broken up with anyone before—as Ron gazed into the fire again. Finally, she took a deep breath, letting it sweep out of her lungs and into the open air.

At her exhale, Ron turned to her, his eyes meeting hers in a silent inquiry. She knew that he saw all he needed to know in her honey orbs. He swallowed and her eyes followed the rise and fall of his Adam's apple.

"You're ending it, aren't you?" Ron said hollowly.

"Ending—?"

"Don't play games with me, Hermione," Ron sighed darkly. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about—our relationship. You're breaking up with me."

Hermione let out a sigh, unsure of whether his knowledge of her intentions brought her relief or pain.

"Yes," Hermione answered quietly. "I am."

Ron was silent, breathing deeply. He swallowed again, shifting away from her. This small movement of him pulling away from her caused tears to spring to her eyes and she reached for him. He resisted her touch, shooing away her hand.

"Ron, please, we have to talk about this," Hermione pleaded.

"Talk about _what_, Hermione? How you're breaking up with me? Yeah, I'd love to sit and chat about that for hours," Ron scoffed and she sat back in her seat.

"You're not being fair," she whispered.

"_I'm_ not being fair?" his voice echoed deeply around the room, rising as he turned on her. "Hermione, do you know how many times I could have broken up with you over the summer and didn't?"

His words were a slap to her frigid cheeks and she startled away from him.

"I never _forced_ you to stay," she replied roughly. "No one _made_ you stay with me. If you wanted to leave so badly, why didn't you?"

He breathed in and out for several seconds. When he spoke again, his words were more gentle than his last.

"I cared about you, Hermione. I still do. But you could hardly call what we had a healthy relationship. I wanted to be with you—I _still _do—but I don't know how we can work past this rut we're in."

"I've been asking myself the same question for some time now," Hermione agreed softly. "It's not fair for either of us. You've got an upstanding job now and you're headed toward a wonderful future, but I feel that I'm just holding you back. I think it'd be best for you to just move on—"

"Don't tell me what's best for me," he started, his voice taking on a sharper tone. "You think I give a damn about my future if it doesn't involve you being in it? Hermione, you can't possibly think that. When you were kidnapped, I thought I'd never see you again. It scared the _hell_ out of me. So many things went through my head in that month when we were searching for you—'what if she's dead and I never _really_ got to tell her how I feel?', 'what would I do without her?'—that I couldn't properly function. I've never been so terrified in my entire life, Hermione, than when I was without you."

Hermione blinked back tears, gazing at her cotton socks.

"That night, when we brought you home, I stayed beside you all night long. It was the worst night of my life," he continued and Hermione flinched at the memories. "You screamed and tossed and turned _all night long_ and there was nothing I could do to comfort you. Do you know how _horrible_ it is to not be able to _comfort_ your own girlfriend?"

"Ron—"

"Let me finish," he cut her off briskly. "You were a _zombie_, Hermione. I finally thought I'd gotten you back, was happy you were alive, and it turned out I never truly got you back. You had changed. I was your _boyfriend_, Hermione. All I wanted was for you to get better, but you just kept getting worse. I tried to be there for you, but you _shut me out_—"

"Of _course_ I _shut _you out, Ronald!" Hermione exploded, flinging to her feet. "I had just been _tortured_ mercilessly for a _month_! The only reason they kept me alive was because I was _valuable bait_. The only reason they gave me recovery time was so that it would be _worse_ the _next time_. I shut _everyone_ out, Ron—_everyone!_"

"You shouldn't have shut _me_ out, Hermione! I was your boyfriend!" he shouted, jumping to his feet as well. "You've been tortured before, remember?"

"How could I possibly forget that?" she scoffed, not believing what she was hearing.

"My _point_ is that you leaned on me and your friends for support after Bellatrix did that to you," he snarled. "You _talked_ to me. You let me _help_ you."

Hermione blanched.

"You really don't get it, do you?" she laughed blackly. "I would have given _anything_ to have been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange that night."

This statement evidently shocked Ron, for he stumbled backward, buckling the back of his knees on the couch so that he slammed into it full force.

"The reason I was able to _lean on you_ after the incidents in Malfoy Manor was because I got away with _one_ scar. I was not a _toy_ to Bellatrix, only a source of information about something valuable to her. With that—that _monster_, I was his puppet. I was tortured _endlessly_, to the point where I wished—_wished!_—he would kill me. Look—look at these. You want to see what he did to me? Go on, _look_!" Hermione screeched, tearing at her clothes, showing him her scars. "And those don't even _begin_ to disclose all the scars he left _here_."

Hermione clutched her heart. She was crying plentifully now.

"He demeaned me, tore me apart, _played_ with me. I wasn't _human_. He took my _dignity_ and shattered my _hope_."

Ron was tomb silent, sitting still and pale.

"I will _never_ truly get over what he did to me. And I'm so sorry that our relationship had to suffer because I was grieving, but if you can't stay with me during my hard times, we never had hope for a future, Ron," Hermione sobbed.

"I gave you time, Hermione," Ron replied. "I waited. I was there for you. You pushed me away."

"Ron, did you hear _nothing_ I just told you?" she wailed. "You gave _up_ on me! In the end, when I started getting better, you were so wrapped around the idea that I was never going to get better and that you couldn't help me, that you pushed _me_ away! Harry only wanted to see me get better, too, Ron, but he _never_ gave up on me."

As soon as the words broke from her mouth and pierced the air around them, she regretted it. Ron looked as if she had stabbed him. Unsteadily, he rose to his feet, gripping the couch with white fingers.

"Harry, huh?" he said bitterly. "Well, _fine_. I don't think we have anything left to say to one another. Goodbye, Hermione."

He shoved past her, clipping her shoulder with his desperate movements.

"Ron—Ron, wait! I didn't mean—"

_Slam_.

Hermione's eyes jammed shut against the howl of the wind against the door Ron had just disappeared from. She felt like her entire heart was shattering all around her. Tears streaked down her cheeks and she dropped to her knees, sobbing into the couch cushions.

Only a moment later, strong arms had found their way around her shoulders, pulling her onto the couch, pressing her face into a toned, familiar chest.

"Shh, shh," Harry whispered as Ginny, now taking the empty space on the other side of Hermione, began stroking her hair.

"You did the right thing," assured Ginny, though she sounded just as broken as Hermione felt.

"It won't last for long," Harry comforted. "He'll get over it."

"I don't think so," Hermione blubbered. "I think he'll hate me forever."

"Please," Ginny scoffed, pulling Hermione upward to face her as she gave her a hard look. "My brother may be stubborn and stupid, but he's not one to break _years_ of friendship with someone he's _so_ close to. He'll come round like he always does."

"It'll definitely take time, 'Mione," Harry said, "but Ron _will_ come around. He just told you he couldn't live his life without you in it."

Hermione scrunched up her face, wondering why his words sounded familiar. And then it hit her.

"Harry James Potter! You were eavesdropping!" she accused.

"Ginny did it, too!" Harry defended.

As Hermione turned toward her redhead friend, Ginny shrugged.

"Guilty as charged."

Despite herself, Hermione let out a watery laugh, rolling her eyes.

"I'm going to go make us some spearmint tea—your favorite, might I remind you, Hermione—and you and I will stay up and have some girl time and paint our nails and do facials and whatever else us females are supposed to do in these cases," Ginny said, making Hermione laugh again, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Hermione sniffed, turning to Harry with a small smile.

"She's great," she said.

"Yeah, she is," Harry agreed.

"Have you talked to her, yet?" Hermione prodded and Harry rolled his eyes.

"_Yes_, I have, Miss Matchmaker," Harry replied, shoving Hermione playfully with his elbow.

"_And_?"

"_And _we're going to take things slow. Both of us don't want to rush into anything right now, but feel it is best that we start _somewhere_."

Hermione smiled in satisfaction, casting her eyes into the fire.

"Do you think my parents are cross with me?" she asked abruptly.

Harry, who had been resting his head on the back of the sofa, sat up straighter, furrowing his brow.

"That was random," he stated. "What do you mean?"

"They seemed upset when I told them I'd erased their memories a few weeks before—well, before I was—anyway, and then I just up and left to come stay here and I know they are worried sick about me."

"I explained everything to them, 'Mione," he assured her. "Honestly, it's okay. They completely understand. I went to see them today before I got off work, just to remind them that tomorrow you're heading to the station and that you'd really like it if they'd come see you off a final time."

"That was sweet of you," she said. "Thank you."

"Actually, that reminds me," he said, reaching into his pocket. "Your mum asked me to give you this."

He handed her a small envelope. Inside it was a letter in her mother's slanted cursive and a gold chain. On the chain hung a gold heart.

"I think she said it was a locket," Harry said. "She was planning on giving it to you on your birthday, when you turn nineteen and all, but she couldn't resist."

"That sounds like my mother," Hermione giggled and quickly opened the golden heart.

Inside the locket rested two pictures, one of her father with his sandy hair and soft brown eyes and the other of her mother with her dark head of curly hair and her gleaming blue eyes, her lips painted in soft red. Oh, how she missed them.

"Oh, Herm!" called Ginny, bustling back into the piano room while very carefully and skillfully holding three mugs of tea in her hands. "You've got a visitor."

As soon as Ginny had said this, a chirping, excited tawny owl shot over Ginny's head and landed on the coffee table beside Hermione. With an encouraging squeak, it stuck out its leg. Hermione, curious, took the envelope tied around the owl's tiny leg, and opened it as Harry offered the owl a treat.

"Well, go on then, tell us what it is," Ginny prompted after several seconds of silence on Hermione's part.

"It says that the letter was delayed because of where I'm staying and for my safety they had to keep to precautionary measures—"

"I don't care about _that_," Ginny said in response. "What's it say?"

There was a long, pregnant pause, in which Harry and Ginny glanced between each other quizzically. Then, Hermione pulled out a gleaming red and gold, tiny metallic badge.

"I'm—I'm Head Girl!"

At that, both Harry and Ginny let out the breath they had been holding, rolling their eyes as they sipped their tea.

"Well, of course you are!" they chorused, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Hermione grinned, suddenly feeling very warm inside as she proudly re-read her letter for the sixth time that evening. Who knew, maybe this year _would_ be beneficial. Maybe she really had nothing to be nervous about after all.


	3. Heirloom

**Disclaimer: ** I own nothing from the Harry Potter series.

**A/N:** So, my lovelies, how are we enjoying the story? I'm rather disappointed that I haven't heard much feedback from anyone yet. I hope *hint hint* that that changes soon. Just run me a line every now and again, tell me what you think!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Two <span>_

_Heirloom_

* * *

><p><em>I could be cold<br>I could be ruthless  
>You know I could be just like you <em>

_You thought you were there to guide me  
>You were only in my way<br>You're wrong if you think that I'll be  
>Just like you<em>

"_Just Like You"—Three Days Grace_

* * *

><p><em>"Please! Stop—no don't—please!" <em>

_"Tell me where it is! Answer me, Mudblood. Tell me what you took from my vault! No? Well, then—CRUCIO!"_

Draco bolted awake to the sound of anguished screams, ripping apart the small morsels of sleep that still clung to his blurry metallic eyes. His body quaked, shivering uncontrollably against the beaded sweat on his brow, trickling down his temple like a wintry tear. He was frightfully chilled, despite the heat radiating all about him, his heart kicking the bones of his ribcage with such intensity he feared he might never breathe again.

His breath flickered shallowly as he whipped around, his eyes finally focusing on his surroundings. He was slumped in the only armchair in the room—black leather with a majestic back and wooden legs—and his bare feet rested solemnly on reeds of thick dark carpet. He breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar picture of his bedchamber—a vast and peaceful gray stone chamber with arched gothic ceilings, lined with dark-wood Louis-Philippe furniture and a towering bookshelf. Spitting royally in front of his armchair, dim flames flickered within a black ornate marble fireplace, kept safely guarded behind an iron hearth gate.

A low hissing noise further shook Draco from his quivering stupor, flinging all traces of fatigue into the belching fire. He startled as something small and gray darted past his legs and took shelter beneath the dark of his armchair. He sank to his knees, urging the small kitten from its hiding space with his long pale fingers. Timidly and rather reluctantly, the kitten peeked out from its haven and nipped at his fingers, narrowing its green eyes in irritation before finally allowing Draco to scoop the small creature into his arms and stroke its dark gray fur.

"You're not still cross with me, are you, Cleo?" he complained teasingly to the small kitten, who took another swipe at his long fingers. "Oh, come now, Cleopatra, stop being such a stubborn diva. Shall I apologize to you? Will that do?"

The kitten growled in response.

"I _am_ sorry I stepped on your tail—I did not realize I'd done so. Won't you forgive me?"

He caressed the kitten sweepingly, tracing his hand from its skull to its tail until finally, the kitten's icy façade faded and it nuzzled its head into the heat of his palm, urging him to continue. He obliged, chuckling.

"I swear, sometimes I fear I might have made a horrible mistake in naming you after royalty. I do believe it has gone straight to your little head," he muttered, dropping the kitten back on the soft carpet.

It mewed in dissatisfaction at the absence of his touch and nudged him with the tip of her nose. When he did not retrieve her from the floor, she mewed louder, pressing her small body against his legs demandingly, refusing to be ignored. She continued to be this persistent for several more minutes until he finally took pity upon her and swooped down to gather her. She purred thankfully and buried her head in his sweater, pawing at his trousers as she stretched out across him.

With a sigh, Draco cast his gaze toward the spitting fire. He often took to sitting pensively by the fire whenever he was troubled, and tonight was no different. He could not suppress the pained screams that had been haunting his nightmares for the entirety of his summer, and they echoed around inside his scrabbled brain like gongs. The screams, so shrill and agonized, clung with distant familiarity to the cobwebs of his mind, but no matter how hard he tried to recognize the voice that haunted his slumber, he could not.

"Damnable garden gnomes," grunted a deep, familiar voice.

Draco had almost forgotten about Blaise, still spread out over Draco's king-sized bed where he had passed out hours before. He was snoring deeply, muttering angrily in his heated state. Blaise's dark and neatly kept hair was mussed messily over Draco's black satin pillows. His studious brow was sweaty, his coffee skin flushed a rosy pink.

"Why can't he pass out at his own house for once?" Draco grumbled.

But in truth, Draco could not blame Blaise for wishing to spend as much time away from his over-sized house. If Draco had a mother like Blaise did, he certainly wouldn't want to be hanging about in dark lavender wall-papered drawing rooms, deciding which color of blue looked best on him for family portraits, or waiting patiently for Husband-Number-Eight to make his entrance.

Shaking his head of pale blond hair, Draco rose from his seat by the fire and, Cleopatra still in hand, sauntered over to the other side of the room. The evening was warm and tranquil with a light breeze drifting lazily through the orange sky, sifting in through the open casement windows and billowing the velvety black drapes with unseen hands, running ghostly fingers through his neat locks of hair.

Today marked the end of his tiresome summer, reminding him that life rested just outside these very walls, waiting for him to make his black mark on an unforgiving society—a society that had already made their judgment of him, despite the Minister's claim of "carrying on with a new slate". No, Draco Malfoy was not that lucky. His mistakes and memories would haunt him till the day he rested six feet under and _no one_ would ever let him forget it.

_Bang!_

The sudden noise plunged Draco back to reality and he spun around as his heavy wooden door slammed into the stone wall.

"Bloody Merlin's hell!" Blaise hollered, swinging upward, his hand clutching his chest.

A tall young woman with slender features barreled through the entrance of Draco's room, taking a moment to spin back around in haste and slam the door shut. She was certainly an attractive girl with a thin model-like body and shapely tan legs. On anyone else, her dress—a black lace number that reached mid-thigh with a swooping neckline—would be considered scandalous, but she somehow managed to look both alluring and sophisticated at the same time. She carried a sense of seductiveness and sensuality as she came forward, a twinge of fire in her step.

"Really, Pansy," Draco drawled, stroking Cleopatra as she hissed at the intrusive newcomer. "Must you be so dramatic?"

"Just thought I'd give you wankers a head's up," Pansy replied calmly, shooting him a teasing sneer. "Your mother is on patrol—she's headed up this way."

"You were supposed to direct her _elsewhere_, Pansy," Draco groaned, not looking forward to another confrontation with his mother.

Cleopatra gave another biting hiss, baring her sharp teeth at Pansy is disdain. In response, Pansy childishly stuck out her tongue at the cat and hissed mockingly back.

"Ruddy cat has it in for me, it does," she mumbled and then returned her gaze back to Draco, folding her arms across her black lace bodice. "Well, she sort of caught Astoria and me hiding behind a hoard of elderly wizards at the refreshment table and became rather cross at us for not _mingling_. And when she couldn't find you sprouts anywhere,_ then_ she got suspicious. There's only so many places you lot could wander off to. We really _did _try putting her off course, but she's got eyes like a hawk and a nose like a dog, that one."

"Watch your tongue," Draco snapped. "That's my mother you are talking about."

Pansy's indigo eyes flashed warningly at his tone and she took a step forward. Draco refrained from smirking – her resistance to his famous Malfoy intimidation was one of the many things he greatly admired about his female best friend. She was truly the only Slytherin girl he had come to respect over the years, apart from Astoria.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me," Pansy warned, but instantly waved it off once she realized Draco was just being his usual protective self. "Anyway, who says I was insulting? Your mum is my role model. But, I have to say, If I had predatory senses like your mum, I certainly wouldn't be using them to host extravagant parties that torture the guests with poor alcohol and hor d'oeuvres."

Blaise snorted and then pathetically tried to transform his snort into a cough. Pansy flicked her eyes stonily at him in response.

"Yeah, you'd use them to hunt down ugly blokes that would actually take a swipe at your swaggy arse," Blaise muttered.

"I _heard_ that, Blaise," Pansy growled.

He grinned at her in reply, his eyes glossy and unfocused. "You were meant to, pet."

"How is that hangover treating you, oaf?" Pansy wondered innocently, cocking her head to the side in mock concern, her thick mane of dark hair spilling over her mocha colored shoulder.

Blaise glowered, all teasing withdrawing from him. Draco rolled his eyes. Their banter was most amusing, but at times it could be very irritating.

"Brilliant," was his stony reply.

Snickering, Pansy pranced over to Blaise, plopping down on Draco's bed next to him and giving him an overzealous kiss on the cheek. She pulled something out from her sequined handbag. It was a dark blue vile which she proceeded to uncork. Suddenly, the room was engulfed in the overpowering scent of peppermint and rosemary.

"I've brought you up some Pepper-Up Potion," Pansy told Blaise kindly as he took the vile from her hands and guzzled it down quickly, scrunching his nose in repulsion. "Hopefully, Mr. Malfoy won't notice its absence from his liquor cabinet—he's got quite a few so I don't think he will."

"What were you doing in my father's liquor cabinet?" Draco wondered, setting Cleopatra down on his armchair so that he could move toward his friends.

Pansy gave him a sheepish grin.

"Astoria and I were being slightly naughty."

Blaise's disbelieving laugh echoed around the large expanse of Draco's bedchamber.

"_Astoria_?" he cawed.

"Well, you see, the bubbly champagne they're using downstairs is hardly _my_ taste," Pansy explained. "Watered down vodka cranberries might be little Astoria's taste, but not mine. She, of course, didn't approve, but when have I ever cared about what she thinks? And what is up with your dad's liquor anyway? No firewhiskey? Doesn't he like to get drunk _quickly_?"

Draco scoffed, shaking his head as he sunk down on the bed.

"No, I think he likes to dwell a bit before going pathetically numb for the rest of the night."

"That's miserable," Blaise commented and then gave a rather unpleasant belch.

"Ew, _Blaise!_" Pansy shrieked, diving headfirst into the mass of silken pillows beside her.

Blaise patted his stomach. "I would hate dwelling. The whole point of alcohol is to drown yourself quickly and get drunk so you can forget all the shit that happens in your life."

"Must you swear so much?" Pansy complained.

"Always, my dear one," he said and then went slightly green. "Sweet Salazaar. You know, I really love alcohol, but I really hate the aftermath. How long before this blasted potion sets in, do you reckon, Panse?"

"It should only take a few more minutes," she replied, patting his leg comfortingly as she rose from the bed and stretched. She swiveled toward Draco. "You have a mirror anywhere, Draco?"

"By the wardrobe," he answered, gesturing toward the far end of the room where a silver-backed oval mirror rested.

"Perfect, thanks," she said in delight and ran over to the mirror.

Draco watched Pansy take out her compact to apply foundation to her face and rearrange her silky mane of hair for several seconds before turning away to sit on the bed next to Blaise. His best friend was staring up at the ceiling with glazed-over eyes.

"It'll be weird going back without them," Blaise sighed.

"Who?"

"Crabbe and Goyle," Blaise answered, placing his hands behind his head. "I think I'll actually miss their idiocy at times. They were quite amusing, before their stupidity almost got the lot of us killed."

Draco swallowed, unable to say anything on the matter. It had only been a few months since they had lost Vincent Crabbe in the Room of Requirement, taken captive by his very own cursed fire. Draco had always considered Crabbe and Goyle to be idiots, but he had kept them around in his first few years of Hogwarts, until he found Blaise and Pansy, and Crabbe and Goyle eventually found new people to hang about. It had been an empty friendship—not really a friendship at all, actually—but Crabbe and Goyle were loyal to him before they became loyal to Voldemort. Even when Draco had doubted himself within Voldemort's ranks, those two never had.

Goyle was now off somewhere, probably in some secluded Russian camp with the rest of the Death Eaters, trying to make a statement about the Dark Lord. Draco didn't care. He never wanted to see him ever again.

"Draco," Pansy said softly, touching his hand.

He hadn't noticed that Pansy had long since ceased her hair fussing and was now kneeling in front of him, clasping his hand in hers. Her deep indigo eyes penetrated his with a softness that only he could see.

"Don't dwell on your past anymore," she said, squeezing his hand. "That part of our lives is over. You can't keep beating yourself up over it, do you hear me? The Minister _pardoned _your family. You're free of the Dark Lord's grasp now."

"Yeah, mate," Blaise said lightly, always the jester, clapping his shoulder. "Voldy's dead now. None of us have to worry about him anymore. You can move on and live your life the way you want to."

"Easy for you to say," Draco mumbled bitterly and Pansy sighed. "My family will never _truly_ be free of the memory of the Dark Lord. Now that the Dark Lord is gone, my father is a living shadow. He's just an empty shell of what once was. Without Voldemort—" at this, Pansy flinched, "—my father is nothing. He was addicted to dark magic—still is."

"Yes, but he'll get better," Pansy assured him. "It will definitely take some time, I'll give you that, but he _will_. After all, the Minister made your father agree to never using dark magic again in order to be pardoned."

"Pardoned," Draco snorted. "Please. We may be pardoned from dying in Azkaban, but that will never take back all the lives our family has destroyed."

"Stop _blaming_ yourself, you sod," Blaise growled, hating Draco's self-pitying. "_You_ didn't kill or destroy _anything_ or _anyone_. You were the first one that that Kinsley bloke let off."

Draco clenched his jaw firmly, declaring silently that this argument was over. Pansy rose from her feet, shaking her head, and Blaise fell silent once again.

Just then, the door swung open once more, more gentle this time, but surprising just the same. In barged Narcissa Malfoy, her chin held high and her light blue eyes fixed straight on Draco. She did not look happy. Behind her trailed a beautiful young woman with fair skin and loopy strawberry blond hair, her lips painted a glossy peach. Her gooseberry green eyes were tight and worried, instantly boring into Draco's with apologetic intensity. She practically ran toward Pansy, the bottom of her sparkly baby blue dress rustling as she did so. Her glass of White Zinfandel sloshed as Pansy roughly took her arm, whispering something harshly to her as Narcissa passed and they both took a step back to allow her better access to Draco.

"I tried," the strawberry blond apologized.

As if just sparking his remembrance through her voice, Draco stared at the girl, breaking into an amused smile.

"Astoria," he greeted with a wink.

"Hello, again," she said, her cheeks slowly coloring pink. "Pansy invited me to come. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. It's good to see you again," Draco said sincerely.

He hadn't seen Astoria since the last day of term. She had been Pansy's friend before Draco's, but halfway through the last year, Astoria had been introduced into their circle of friends. Pansy had tried to set Draco and Astoria up for the fun of it and they'd had a snog once in the library after Christmas, but nothing had ever really had a chance to develop between them because of the war and Draco's involvement. Plus, Astoria had been a fifth year, and though she was intelligent and beautiful, she was still somewhat naïve.

"You've colored your hair, I see," he noticed, gazing at her now strawberry blond curls which had once been dark brown, and her cheeks went a shade darker. "I like it."

"Thank you," she said, giving him a shy smile, but then bowed her head respectfully when Draco's mother turned to look at her before turning back on her son.

"Draco," said Narcissa imperiously, coming to stand coolly in front of her son. "You are quite aware, I'm sure, that tonight is one of the most important nights of this summer."

"Is it?" Draco said lightly and his mother bristled. He instantly stiffened, wondering where her humor had gone.

"Do not sass me, young man," she huffed. "I'm in no mood for it this evening."

"Mother, are you alright?" he asked softly, taking her hand and leading her to the window, out of the earshot of his friends.

"Of _course _I am," she snapped and she exhaled tersely, her tone taking on a gentler note. "Draco, the guests have stopped arriving. You need to at least make an _appearance_ downstairs."

Throwing his mother a disgruntled look, he grumbled, "Just tell them I'm ill."

"And me too," Blaise chimed.

Both Draco and his mother rolled their eyes at this, but Draco became serious again as she looked down at the floor with a sigh.

"Draco, please. This is very important for our family," she insisted. "Won't you come downstairs?"

"Mother, honestly, I don't see why you still throw these horrid events. Our reputation is trashed—"

"_Don't_ say that. It isn't. We've been—"

"Pardoned, yes, I know," interrupted Draco. "I was there at the hearing when the Minister gave his order and put us on probation."

"Oh, good gracious, Draco," she hissed. "Sometimes, I swear you are as stubborn as I am."

Draco smirked in response and kissed his mother on the cheek.

"I learn from the best. It's probably why we make such a great pair, you and I," he noted.

She attempted to keep the thin smile from her face, but failed miserably as she almost always did when faced with her son's charm. But minutes later, Draco's mother was still preaching the vital importance of this evening's gala.

_Right,_ Draco thought. _It is just as important as every other gala she's thrown this summer. _

"_Merlin_, Draco," Blaise exclaimed. "Just do it already. I can't bear this squabbling anymore. It's like listening to you and Granger having it out."

"And that goes for you, _too_, Blaise," Narcissa declared, turning on the dark-skinned boy. "I expect _all_ of you downstairs in your best clothing."

"Aw, come on, Narcissa," Blaise whined.

Blaise was the _only_ one of Draco's friends that she allowed to call her by her first name. In a sense, she held a soft spot for the overly flirtatious and flamboyant boy.

"I know, I know, I am cruel," Draco's mother sighed, chuckling as she drifted toward Pansy and Astoria, huddled conversationally by the wardrobe. "Will you girls be angels and help me find appropriate attire for Draco and Blaise to change into?"

"How do reckon you'll find 'appropriate attire' for _me_, Narcissa?" snorted Blaise. "I'm much taller than dear Draco."

"Not by much," Draco shot back. "Plus, you still have stuff left behind from the last time you crashed at my house. In the bottom drawer."

At this information, Narcissa bent down and opened the bottom drawer, shifting through various articles of clothing.

"Oh, Draco," gasped Blaise in mock-adoration, touching his heart. "You gave me my own _drawer_? Are we official now?"

Both Pansy and Astoria erupted in giggles at this comment, but Draco merely shot Blaise an irritated glare and threw him his clothes.

"Draco, your drawers really are _such_ a mess— What is that?" Draco's mother said, noticing a rather bulky envelope sitting on the stand next to Draco's armchair. Draco swallowed uneasily and dove toward it before his mother could reach it. "Is that—? Draco Lucius Malfoy, how come you haven't opened your letter yet? Hogwarts must have sent that _weeks_ ago!"

"I'd forgotten," Draco replied truthfully. "I've had other things on my mind."

"Well, open it at once," she demanded. "You'll need to be getting your supplies."

"I already know what I need, Mother," Draco assured her. "It's not like it's a brand new school year for us, you know. I'm just repeating my seventh year. I don't know why they insist on sending us these letters."

"You might as well check and see if there are any new things you might need this year," Pansy said.

"Fine," Draco gave in, tossing the package at an unsuspecting Blaise. "You can open it, Blaise. We all know how much you love packages."

Blaise dove for the post, but his still slightly un-sober reflexes were not quite quick enough; the letter landed on the floor with an audible _clunk_. Everyone stared at the envelope in awe and confusion for several smothering seconds before each of them dove for it all at once. Pansy got to it first, ripping it open with a satisfied smirk. She handed Draco's mother the supplies list in a bored manner.

"Hang on, there's something else in here," she noticed and pulled out another piece of parchment, skimming over it, her eyes growing larger and larger as they reached the bottom of the page. "No _way_."

"What?" asked Astoria curiously, peering over Pansy's shoulder.

For several moments, the two girls stared at each other and then back at the page, then erupted in shrieks of laughter.

"Oh, that's rich," Pansy howled, holding her ribs. "Mrs. Malfoy, you're going to want to take a look at this."

Draco's mother tore her eyes away from the supplies list and motioned for Pansy to send the second parchment her way. When she finally held it in her hands, she began to skim over the page as well. She gasped loudly, clutching the form in her hands so tightly that the page began to wrinkle.

"What?" Draco and Blaise asked at the same time, beyond confused.

"Oh, my boy!" exclaimed Narcissa excitedly, engulfing her son in enthusiastic kisses and hugs. "My sweet, smart boy! Oh, I'm so proud of you!"

"Mother, _really_," Draco gasped, embarrassed as he struggled for breath. "_Mum!_ Seriously, I can't—breathe—"

The beautiful blond woman broke away from her son, still grinning widely. She passed the parchment over to Draco and Blaise slammed into him in his haste to read it before him.

"Will you—bloody—stay still, will you? I'm—trying to—read this—"

But both of them stopped horsing around when their eyes simultaneously skimmed over the message written on the page.

* * *

><p>HOGWARTS SCHOOL<p>

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minvera McGonagall

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_It is of my utmost pleasure to inform you that you have been selected for the high-esteemed position of Head Boy for the upcoming school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_I am confident that you will do wonderfully in this position whilst at Hogwarts due to your high academics, fine leadership skills, responsible time management, and dedication. However, may I impress that you are now asked to be an upstanding example to all students at Hogwarts, and I must ask that you handle your position in the utmost decorum. Despite the fact that you have been given many more tasks and responsibilities, it is your duty as Head Boy to stay on top of your academics, as well._

_You will accompany your Head counterpart on the Hogwarts Express in Compartment B11, where you will introduce the new prefects to their positions and get to know one another to build trust among the group. You are thereby asked to attend an obligatory meeting with your Head counterpart on the evening of September 1 in my office immediately after the welcoming feast, where you will receive further instructions of what is expected of you. Your badge has been included and should be worn upon your arrival at all times during school hours._

_I know that you will do Hogwarts a great justice and look forward to your return. _

_Regards,_

_Minerva McGonagall _

_Headmistress_

* * *

><p>Draco gawked at the letter, mirroring Blaise's facial expression of both horror and amazement. Draco blinked rapidly, not believing his eyes. After reading the letter for a fourth time over, Draco understood that this was no longer a joke or a dream as he might have hoped.<p>

"Oh, you goodie-two-shoes tosser," Blaise suddenly guffawed, clapping Draco on the back again. "I always knew you had it in you!"

"This is hardly funny," Draco stated, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

"It's wonderful!" exclaimed his mother, smothering him in her embrace once more.

At the sound of a loud tinkling noise, they parted and turned to stare at Pansy, who was still holding the envelope. She turned the envelope over and allowed a shiny piece of emerald green and silver medal to deposit itself in her palm. Grinning, she pranced over to Draco and fastened the small badge to his sweater, stepping back to examine him with appraising eyes.

"Perfect, isn't it?" she snickered, nudging Astoria in the ribs, and they both erupted in laughter again.

"I'm so proud of you, Draco," said Narcissa again, cupping his cheek in her warm hand and smiling fondly.

It was good to see her smile; she hadn't done so in such a long time.

"_Ahem_."

The room's temperature seemed to plummet at the arrival of Draco's father. Immediately, the cheerful cloud of praise dissipated as they all parted. Lucius Malfoy stepped forward into the warm room, looking strangely chilled. He still looked as horrible as he had the day they had been pardoned by the Minister of Magic, but he at least _seemed_ to be attempting to play the part of his former, upstanding self.

His hair was still scraggly and unkempt, but it was pulled hastily back in a familiar black ribbon. His robes were spot-free, but still hung to his shriveled frame so that he seemed to be drowning in them. His eyes were hollow and pained, surrounded by dark circles. His stubble was shaved away, but his skin was still ashen with the ghosts of his past. He may look to the guests downstairs like he was getting better, but Draco knew better.

"Might I ask what on earth is going on in here?" he asked, his tone dripping like a winter's chill.

"I was just getting ready to come downstairs," Draco lied, standing up straighter as his father billowed further into the room.

"Well, it is about time," his father said. "Narcissa, come back downstairs. That funny Russian ambassador—you know, the one that attended our wedding— wishes to see you."

"Very well," his wife replied stiffly, as she did whenever her husband took that tone with her. "I shall be down shortly, but we were in the middle of something, so it will only be a moment. By all means, don't let me keep you."

"I'm not going down there by myself again," he stated bitterly. "What was the meaning of running off as you did, just abandoning me down there?"

"I hardly _abandoned_ you, Lucius," she scoffed. "And I came up here to tell Draco and Blaise it was safe to come down."

"When did Zabini get here?" his father demanded, turning to throw a quick glance at Blaise, who narrowed his eyes at Draco's father in response.

"Just a few hours ago," Blaise replied. "Hope you don't mind."

Draco's father looked as if he wished to say something, but he threw on a controlled half-smile, his lips twitching.

"No, not at all."

It was silent for several moments before Lucius returned his gaze to Narcissa.

"What was with all the hollering, anyway?" he asked. "I could hear the lot of you shrieking from the third landing."

"We were congratulating Draco," Pansy answered, coming to stand beside Draco's mother. She smiled sweetly at Draco's father, who returned her friendliness with a nod—he'd always liked Pansy.

"On what, pray tell?" Lucius asked.

"I made Head Boy," Draco said quietly.

Just as he had thought, his father made no move to acknowledge his presence. His gray eyes, the same color as his own, narrowed in on the badge on his chest.

"Is that so?" he replied coldly. "Well, then."

His words were like a thorn slicing through his skin, embedding itself within his muscles, slowly diving in toward his well-blocked heart.

"It is official now, you know," Draco told him pointedly. "I'm going back to Hogwarts."

"Which is _hardly_ a smart way to go," his father responded and Draco sighed darkly, having heard this argument all summer long, ever since Professor McGonagall had sent him a letter offering him a second chance at his seventh year. "Draco, this is a weak decision. This is not what you should be doing with yourself. You should already be making a name for yourself within the Ministry ranks, inquiring for an upstanding job that will do our family justice. But instead, you _decline_ the interview I worked so hard to set up for you in order to return to being a _schoolboy_."

The thorn roughly rammed into the defensive walls barring his heart.

"Lucius, aren't you going to congratulate him? This is a wonderful honor—"

"Honor? Narcissa, our boy is refusing to _grow up_," he laughed mockingly. "But so be it, boy. You wish to return to school, then _so be it_. But I shall not be there to help you once you decide to make your mark on society. We'll see how far you shall go, then."

"As far as you, Father?"

The words had escaped his lips before he could stop them.

"What was that?" his father asked, turning on him. "_What_ did you say to me?"

"I was only pointing out the utter hypocrisy of your words," Draco replied, steadying his voice, "considering you are no longer employed. We are simply living off of our family fortune. And what _you _should be doing is not telling _me_ to find a job, but rather finding one for yourself. Or do you ever plan on stepping outside this house again?"

"Draco," whispered Pansy hurriedly, throwing a nervous glance between them.

The room was silent. Until this moment, Draco had never spoken against his father. For years, he had allowed his father to push him around. He did his father's bidding because he looked up to him, admired him. He had wanted to be just like his father, until Voldemort had destroyed him and he took it upon himself to sacrifice his own son for the Dark Lord's favor.

Of course, Draco did not entirely blame his father—mostly he blamed Voldemort—but nevertheless, when Draco's father had called out to him to join him on Voldemort's side after Potter had been brought back, believed to be dead, he had not budged. Part of him was glued firmly to the steps of Hogwarts, far away from Lord Voldemort and far from his family. But then his mother had stepped forward, calling out to him with tear-filled eyes, holding our her arms to him. And for that moment, all that mattered was the depth of love he and his mother shared. He would do anything for her and he could not leave her behind. Should he die, he would die with his mother beside him, for he would always trust her judgment.

He had ignored his father for weeks and had gotten through the entire summer with barely a few forced words to him, but now he was no longer a boy wishing to do his father's bidding. No, he no longer wished to be anything like his wreck of a father. In fact, the thought of becoming like him terrified him.

"I have made my decision and you have yet to make yours, but for your sake, I hope that soon changes."

There was a stony silence in which Draco and his father stared heatedly at the other, both silently urging the other to start something. In the end, Lucius stalked forward and whipped his hand through the air, slamming down a decorative wooden box on Draco's nightstand.

"Your coming of age present," he spat. "It seems to suit you well, just as it did its predecessor. He was equally traitorous, so the stories say."

And with that, his father spun on his heel and marched away, slamming the door behind him.

"_Lucius_!" cried his mother, tearing after him.

Draco dropped onto his bed, running his hands through his silken hair in frustration. He'd tried for years to impress his father, to prove that he was worth something to him, that his father should be proud. He loved his father so much—probably too much—and he hated how his words had sounded toward his fragile father.

"He loves you," Pansy whispered, sitting next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. "You know that."

"I know that," he snapped, but steeled himself. "However, it was time that I finally spoke my mind. He wants me to be a man, so I will be. He'll just have to accept the fact that I'll never be a man like him."

"Good, you'd be _such_ an arse," Blaise commented, earning a smirk from Draco.

"Am I making a mistake, do you think? Coming back to Hogwarts, that is," Draco wondered.

"Draco, this is a chance for us to finally have a year at Hogwarts without You-Know-Who breathing down our backs," Pansy said and Blaise and Astoria nodded their agreement. "It's our chance to start over. Plus, it isn't as if we actually had a decent, proper year at Hogwarts, what with the Carrows always stalking about. I'm looking forward to ending my final year on a high note."

"I suppose you're right," Draco agreed.

"I'm _always_ right, Draco," Pansy stated, winking.

"So, what's with the 'coming of age' gift?" Blaise wondered.

"Another Malfoy tradition, I expect," Draco said, shrugging.

"Well, I'm going to go get changed before your mum decides to skin me alive," stated Blaise, grabbing his clothes and setting off for the hallway bathroom.

"We should probably go as well," said Astoria, already inching toward the doorway. "You coming Pansy?"

Pansy looked toward Draco and he nodded his approval.

"Go, I'll be fine. Plus, I think I'd rather open this alone, if you don't mind," he assured her. "I'll be down in a few minutes. I'll meet you all in the library."

Pansy nodded, squeezed his fingers once more, and scuttled out the door after Astoria, closing the door behind them.

Draco cleared his throat, taking the rosewood box in his lap and unlatching it. Inside the burgundy velvet lined box was a piece of parchment, which he took out and opened with curious fingers.

_Draco,_

_You are now nineteen—an age of manhood—and with this age comes great responsibility, in our world and otherwise. This box holds something which has been passed down in our family for generations. If you have not looked as to what is inside it yet, please do so now._

Draco did as he was instructed and opened the wooden box, frowning as his fingers curled around—

"A ring?" he muttered, confused.

His father had given him a _ring_?

He lifted the ring out from where it was nestled in the velvet cushion of the box and examined it closely. It had a gold band and a close-cut green stone which glimmered in the dim light of the fire. It certainly looked expensive and unique enough to belong to a Malfoy—but what was the point of a ring? He had no use for precious jewelry.

With a scoff, he moved his fingers to return the ring back in its rightful place when suddenly the ring's gem changed color in the light. His jaw lightly dropped open as he stared at the miraculous switch. The stone, which had only seconds before gleamed a brilliant emerald, was now a dark, blood red.

How did a stone go from green to _red_? Such different colors, such polar _opposites_—it had to be impossible. Hoping desperately for an answer, Draco retrieved the parchment from his lap and picked up where he had left off.

_This ring is considered one of the finest Malfoy heirlooms. Your mother and I both agreed to trust you to take great care of it. It was given to your great-great grandfather by a powerful sorceress. It was rumored that the ring had special powers, none of which we have uncovered. No one, other than your great-great grandfather, has ever claimed of strong powers. _

_But it is a prized possession, marking your rise in society as a man. From this moment on, the ring is yours, until you one day have an heir to pass it on to. This ring now marks you as the heir to the Malfoy bloodline. Use it well._

_Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy_

Draco replaced the parchment in the wooden box, but continued to finger his new possession. The ring glimmered as he slid it onto his right ring finger. It certainly wasn't a feminine ring, to his pleasure, and it was certainly gaudy enough to show his status.

But the strange thing was, none of this really seemed to matter to Draco as he gazed down at the twinkling stone, which kept changing from green to red. He felt inexpressibly drawn to it, like it was meant to be with him. He was _proud_ to have it, for he now owned something valuable, a piece of worth, an acceptance. He now possessed the Malfoy's greatest heirloom.

And then he frowned, letting the reality all sink back in. A ring. The Malfoy's most prized possession was a bloody _ring._


	4. Heads

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing from Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Hello, my gentle and faithful friends, and welcome back! I have missed you dearly. Thank you for all the reviews—I waited with bated breath for them, haha. **Hyruleepona****,** I must agree with you on what you said about Lucius and Narcissa—I, too, hate fanfictions where Lucius is physically abusive to Narcissa or Draco, maliciously evil, or incredibly out of character. I find Lucius to be a coward and haunted, but I hardly find him malicious. He loves his wife and his son—it's just really hard for him to show affection to his son because he wasn't raised by a loving father either. No, he's not the best dad in the world, but who is? And yes, I hate angst as well. This story obviously has angst in it, but it doesn't control my entire story, because I really can't stand angst unless it is written properly, you know?

Anyway, now that I have rambled on… I'm glad to hear that there are some that like my choice in music—music livens my day, so why not let it liven my story? Haha. So, I'm sure all of you are on the edge of your seats, asking 'why does Annie keep talking and preventing me from reading?' so I'll just end my spiel here. Another chapter is here so, enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Three<span>_

_Heads_

* * *

><p><em>Days go by, nothing stays the same<br>As you and I move on, move on  
>Tonight is tomorrow's memory<br>Who knows where we both may be by dawn_

_Time waits for no one  
>Don't let it pass us by<br>Time waits for no one  
>It goes on and on<em>

"_Time Waits For No One"—The Graces_

* * *

><p>"Mum, really, it's okay," Hermione insisted.<p>

Outside King's Cross station, the sky was a bright cyan blue, the early September sun beating down warmly on bustling civilians as they hurried into the crowded train station.

"No, it is most certainly not okay," disagreed Helen Granger, fiddling with the chain of Hermione's locket before letting it rest on the thin fabric of Hermione's champagne colored chiffon blouse. "Your father and I are going into that station with you and we will be seeing you off at that barrier, just as we have every year since you were eleven."

At this, Mrs. Granger gasped, clutching her daughter to the bosom of her blue summer dress. She brushed her fingers over her daughter's long and buoyant curls, the exact cross between her mother's dark brown hair and her father's sandy hair.

"I can't believe you are going to be nineteen in just a few days," Hermione's mother said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I still remember when we first dropped you off at that barrier and watched you disappear—a tiny eleven year old girl with bushy hair and a determined gait. Now, you're a beautiful woman, such an elegant young lady," said Nathan Granger fondly, taking his turn to embrace his daughter.

"Oh, Dad," Hermione groaned, although she smiled as she wrapped her slender arms around her father's waist and pressed her cheek against his beige sweater. "You're so cheesy."

"I'm weepy," he corrected, wiping a tear from his eye and smiling apologetically.

Her father had always been the emotional one between her parents. Her mother was usually the serious and pensive one, her father the crybaby and the laughing stock. Hermione smiled, happy to be in their arms once more.

"I'm sorry about this summer," she whispered for the fifth time that morning.

"Don't you dare," Mrs. Granger clucked, forcing Hermione to look at her. "What happened was out of your control. Don't you think on it, Hermione, don't you think on it."

"Honey, the only thing we ask in the future is that you don't keep us in the dark," her father pleaded. "We couldn't bear the thought of losing you and not knowing what happened. Will you promise us that?"

"I—I promise to the best of my ability," Hermione assured them both. "When I go to work for the Ministry, there will be some things that put me in danger that I won't be able to disclose to you."

"And we understand that," said Hermione's mother, cupping her cheek. "Just please promise to be careful. I suppose now that Harry and Ron won't be joining you at Hogwarts, you're dangerous little adventures might not happen _as_ much this year as previous years."

Hermione had to laugh at this. With a smile, Hermione led her parents into the station to Platform 9 ¾. Once they arrived at the barrier, Hermione turned to her mother and father with an unsure smile.

"Write to us _all_ the time," commanded Mrs. Granger, embracing her daughter. "Do you hear me?"

Hermione chuckled and nodded, kissing her mother on the cheek. "I will, Mum. I love you."

When she turned to her father she found him a few paces away, swallowing and blinking rapidly. Hermione smiled affectionately and threw her arms around her father's neck, giving him a large kiss on the cheek.

"I'll miss you, tiny," he said, patting the top of her curly head.

"I'll miss you, too, Dad," she said, smiling at his nickname for her. "Now, will you stop crying? You're going to make me get teary-eyed, too."

"Can't help it," he grunted in response. "It seemed like just yesterday when you were a little five year old girl, sitting on my lap in pigtails and overalls, wondering why the sky was blue. And now you're an intelligent, independent, beautiful young woman. I'm feeling the need to get out the shotgun. Those blokes will probably be all over you by the time you graduate."

"Oh, Daddy," Hermione laughed, hugging him tightly. "You're too nice to bring out the shotgun. And don't worry—you'll always be my number one man."

"It's five to eleven," interjected Mrs. Granger.

"Oh dear, I've got to go!" Hermione exclaimed and Mr. Granger sighed. "I'll write to you as soon as I can, Dad. I love you both."

With great reluctance, Mr. Granger passed Hermione her trunk and waved to her as she broke off into a run and disappeared through the barrier, leaving them behind. The platform was in a jumbled, chaotic mess when Hermione broke through the barrier with her trolley. Steam was coiling from the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express as the warning signal echoed around her.

"Hermione!"

She whipped around at the sound of her name and instantly spotted Ginny, waving to her from a few feet away. The pretty redhead was standing next to her boyfriend, who smiled at Hermione as she came to a stop in front of them.

"We were starting to wonder where you'd gone off to," Harry said. "You just kind of disappeared when you met up with your parents."

"Iwas starting to worry that Malfoy had gotten to you," Ginny cracked and Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"What?" she asked. "Malfoy?"

"Didn't you see him and his dear old mummy?" asked Ginny, still smiling at her joke.

"Can't say that I did," Hermione replied, scanning the crowd. "Are you sure? I don't see him anywhere."

"Must've gotten on the train already," Harry said.

Hermione frowned. Why would Draco Malfoy be returning to Hogwarts? Surely he was just seeing someone off?

Harry exhaled loudly, interrupting her thoughts, and checked his watch.

"I know, I know," Ginny sighed. "You've got to go to work. Sorry for keeping you."

"It's okay," Harry said, smiling as he gave her a long kiss on the mouth. They broke apart, both blushing. "But I've really got to go. Write to me, _both_ of you."

Hermione gave Harry a quick and friendly peck on the cheek once they both had agreed to write him and watched as he bustled away, disappearing in the crowd. Ginny took Hermione's hand, smiling.

"Come on, Herm," she said. "A new year awaits us."

They hoisted their trunks onto the train and set off down the train's corridors, looking for an empty compartment.

"I'm so glad that you're coming to Hogwarts this year, Hermione," Ginny confided. "Otherwise, I'd be incredibly sad. It's weird, though, because now we're both in the same year. Don't you think that's—"

Ginny's words were taken from her when she was suddenly knocked to the side by a pretty girl with long ebony hair, who had just seen her friends and darted past Ginny and Hermione, not even bothering to wait for them to pass before she plowed through.

"Watch where you're going, will you?" Ginny exclaimed, her face flushing in irritation as she whipped around to scold the girl that had just knocked into her.

There was a suspended silence as the curly haired girl turned around and her large dark eyes fell upon Ginny.

"Oh, Ginny, I _totally_ didn't see you standing there," said the girl, not sounding apologetic in the very least.

"I'm sure you didn't," Ginny responded coldly.

It was then that Hermione remembered the girl's familiar heart shaped face. It was Romilda Vane, the bold and flirtatious girl that had brewed Harry a love potion in her fourth year to pathetically attempt to gain attention from him. It had backfired when the love potion was ingested by Ron instead of Harry. Romilda would be a sixth year now, if Hermione's guess was correct.

"Heard from Harry lately?" asked Romilda, cocking her head to the side, a saucy smirk playing on her lips.

"I _have_ actually, considering he's my boyfriend," Ginny replied and Romilda rolled her eyes. "But I don't suppose you'd really know what it's like to have a boyfriend, would you? I could give you a few pointers sometime, if you'd like."

At this, Romilda's dark eyes flashed. Hermione groaned inwardly. If there was anyone Ginny hated more than Pansy Parkinson, it was Romilda Vane.

"I've had _plenty_ of boyfriends," she snapped.

"Really? I wasn't aware that victims of Amortentia were now considered boyfriends," Ginny mockingly gasped. "But not to worry; I'm sure you'll find _someone_ this year."

Romilda narrowed her eyes and Hermione tugged on Ginny's blouse, urging her to walk away.

"Tell Harry I say hello, will you, love?" Romilda said in a sugary voice, obviously trying hard to keep up her composure and not look like a complete fool against the hot-tempered Weasley.

"You know, that's actually a brilliant idea," Ginny chuckled. "He could use a good laugh."

Romilda's gaggle of girls gasped at Ginny's insult, but Romilda set her jaw. Hermione tugged on Ginny's blouse again. Ginny began to follow when suddenly a thought seemed to occur to her and she turned around.

"Oh, and Romilda? Stay away from my boyfriend."

"I will if he _wants_ me to," said Romilda in a low voice, causing Ginny to laugh.

"He will. And come to think of it, while you're at it, stay away from me, too."

Ginny spun around lightly, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her down the remainder of the hallway. They came to a stop several seconds later, still without a compartment.

"You really shouldn't let her get you so riled up, Gin," Hermione muttered.

"I know, but I can't seem to help it. She's just such a little—"

"Ginny, please."

"Now I'm not allowed to swear?" Ginny laughed. "Come on, Hermione. What's gotten into you today? You're so tense."

"I'm just a bit stressed about the new school year and my Head duties," she replied. "It's nothing. Don't worry about me."

"I always worry about you Hermione Granger," Ginny said seriously, squeezing Hermione's hand tightly. "I know we've had some hard times lately, but let's make this year a better one, okay? It can't get any worse."

With a gentle smile, feeling like a weight had been momentarily lifted from her shoulders, Hermione embraced her friend and nodded.

"Let's check this one," Hermione suggested, pulling open the door to another compartment.

There was a collective gasp as the door was thrown completely open and hands were suddenly reaching out to her from all points of the train compartment, engulfing her and Ginny in a cloud of clothing and flesh. When finally she broke free and was able to breathe once more, she looked about the compartment in confusion and mild shock.

Neville was seated closest to the door, his long legs stretched out lazily in front of him. His hair had grown several inches since the last time she had seen him and he definitely looked better than he had the night Hogwarts was attacked. Beside him sat the almost ethereal presence of Luna Lovegood, her dirty blonde hair cascading down her back in thick waves. Her large blue eyes were luminescent in the sunlight seeping in from the window to her left as she regarded Hermione closely.

Also in the compartment was Padma Patil and Fay Dunbar—a girl that Hermione had roomed with throughout her years at Hogwarts. She was sweet and kind, standing several inches taller than the other girls in the compartment. She possessed a slim, athletic body, a head full of thick brown hair which she wore fashionably straight down her back, and dark blue eyes.

"Hermione!" they exclaimed all at once.

Neville jumped to his feet as Ginny hopped over to Luna and embraced her, squeezing into the space between Luna and where Neville had just previously been sitting. Neville pulled Hermione into a bone crushing hug, causing several of her bones to crack.

"Neville—can't—breathe—" Hermione gasped, thumping him on the back to prompt him to let her go.

When he released her he smiled widely.

"I didn't know you were coming back to Hogwarts," he said happily, gesturing for her to take the seat across from him.

Hermione shrugged in response, giving him a small smile and settling herself in the seat across from him, right next to Fay.

"It's good to see you again, Fay," Hermione greeted and Fay responded with equal enthusiasm, giving her a wide smile. "I thought you'd be off at the Auror department by now."

"Well, I think all of us can say that we missed out on a proper schooling year last year, so I decided to come back," Fay explained and then nudged Padma with her elbow. "Convinced this one to come along as well."

"Padma," Hermione greeted and the brown skinned girl returned Hermione's nod.

"Where's your sister, Paddie?" asked Ginny curiously.

"Oh, Parvati? She's gone off to Switzerland with her boyfriend for the year on an internship in one of the most prestigious Herbology laboratories," Padma informed them in a bored manner, and from her tone Hermione was guessing Padma had heard this very same statement from her over-exuberant sister repeatedly over the summer.

"Really?" Neville asked, perking up at the mention of Herbology. "I sent in my application papers there, but I was rejected."

"I'm sorry, Neville," Hermione comforted and he shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's okay," he said, smiling. "I was offered a better position anyway."

"Then why are you here?" Ginny wondered.

"Because my internship is here," Neville replied and they all stared at him with bugged eyes.

"You're not coming back to school?" asked Fay, confused.

"No, he is," Luna stated. "He's just going to be helping out Professor Sprout with her classes instead of taking Herbology."

"It'll really help me improve on my skills and I think I could do a really good job," Neville said confidently.

"You'll do wonderfully. I'm happy for you," Hermione complimented.

"I hope we all have some classes together," Ginny expressed, "since we're all in the same year now and everything."

"I'm sure we will," Hermione assured her with a smile.

After a while of catching up and talking about light and happy things, the compartment grew steadily more quiet as the friends changed into their robes. Neville and Ginny delved into a game of exploding snap, Fay and Padma snickered over pages from _Witch Weekly, _and Luna drifted off into a dozing sleep. Finding herself twitching in boredom, Hermione leaned over to shuffle through her handbag and promptly plucked out her copy of _Pride and Prejudice_, leafing through the pages until she found her spot.

Just as she was nearing the end of chapter seven, there was a small knock on the compartment door and it slid open. In the doorway stood a slim girl with an elfin face, pale skin, dark brown eyes, and pin straight blond hair. Instantly, I recognized her.

"H—Hannah," stammered Neville, clumsily sending his pile of exploding cards to the floor, which caused a loud _pop-pop-bang_ to engulf the tiny compartment. Immediately, he scooped down to pick them up, his fingers trembling all the while, his face tinged with pink.

"Hello, Neville," she greeted fondly, throwing him a smile. "How was your summer?"

"G—Good, and y—yours?" he stuttered, still trying to compose himself.

"It went well. I spent the majority of it with my grandparents, which was nice," she informed him. "You remember them, don't you?"

Neville nodded. "How could I forget? Your grandmother is practically best friends with mine."

"Haha, it is so funny how small the world can be," she noted, giving him another smile.

She seemed almost reluctant to turn away from Neville and meet my eyes, but when she did she smiled.

"Hermione, you look well," she commented and I returned her smile. It was incredible how contagious Hannah's smile was. "I ran into Slughorn in the hallway. I'm supposed to remind you that you have a meeting with the prefects in ten minutes in compartment B11."

She jumped up, checking her watch. Just as Hannah stated, she was due to arrive in compartment B11 in ten minutes. She couldn't believe she'd let time get away from her!

"Thank you so much!" she exclaimed and, without further word, rushed out of the compartment and through the next car.

On her way to the meeting place, Hermione's thoughts drifted to her Head counterpart. She couldn't even guess who would be the Head Boy. She only hoped it would be someone she knew well enough or got along with, and if she did not know him, she wished him to be compliant and kind.

The door creaked as she slid it open and shuffled inside. At first she thought she was alone in the compartment, but then she noticed another presence. A boy sat in the seat closest to the window, his pale blond hair clean cut and styled to perfection. A spidery white hand lay on the armrest, its long fingers tapping the wood with a repeated rhythm. His pointed and angular face was positioned away from her, gazing out the window at the lush countryside, but she knew who he was. She could _feel_ who it was.

She hadn't seen him since that day at the Ministry of Magic—the day his family was pardoned. The day Hermione was kidnapped.

"Malfoy?"

He turned toward her slowly, his perfect brow furrowing in confusion as he took in the sight of her. His lips parted ever so slightly as his silver eyes trailed down from her curly hair, to her robes, and then to her black shoes. Several things seemed to appear within the depths of those orbs—obvious confusion, shock, mild terror, and something foreign she had never witnessed in his features before—an emotion that was undetectable.

As if realizing she could read him and equally startled by this finding, he quickly cut off his emotions and shook his head, draping on the curtain of nonchalance and superiority that he was so commonly seen with.

"Granger," he replied, nodding his head before turning back to the window.

She started, her honey eyes going wide. _What_ had he just called her? Had he truly refrained from calling her Mudblood?

_Of course he has, you dunce,_ a voice in Hermione's head chided. _It's not as if you two aren't older and mature now. I'm sure he wants to move past the war and everything that happened before it just as much as you do._

"Are you lost?"

Hermione came out of her thoughts and glanced at the blond boy sitting in front of her. He was looking at her again, the bridge of his nose crinkling as confusion once again graced his strained features. He didn't sound malicious in any sense, only mildly annoyed by her presence and truly puzzled.

Had hell frozen over, or had Draco Malfoy become _civil_?

"No," she replied slowly. "This is cabin B11, right?"

Draco nodded, but this only seemed to confuse him more.

"What are you doing here?" he wondered crisply.

"I could ask you the same question," she countered.

"I asked you first, if I recall," he stated dryly and then shook his head. "Look, I haven't got the time for this, okay? I have a meeting with the prefects and I'm supposed to be meeting with the Head Girl anytime now, so if you'll be so kind as to remove yourself and find your posse, I would be most appreciative."

The blood pumping through her veins shuddered to a stop, throwing her into momentary blackness. After her vision returned from her temporary fade-out, she realized she had stopped breathing and sucked in a deep breath. _What_?

"You're joking," she said, panicked, but then shook her head. She was being absurd. Laughing to herself in relief, she rationalized, "Of _course_ you're joking."

"You know, Granger, I know you've always been a little mad, but now I think you've finally cracked," Draco drawled, his stormy eyes narrowing at her. "Why are you in here?"

"_I_ have a meeting with the prefects. _I'm_ supposed to be meeting with the Head Boy in cabin B11 at two o'clock."

Now it was Draco's turn to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Clearly, you _must_ be mistaken," Draco told her sardonically. "Why on earth would you need to meet with me?"

"I'm not meeting with you," she corrected. "I'm meeting with the Head Boy."

"I _am_ the Head Boy."

Hermione felt, in that moment, as if she'd been hit over the head with a bag of bricks. Of course the idea had crossed her mind—they were both in the same compartment, with the same motives, at the same time—but it couldn't possibly be true! No, she was just imagining things. Draco Malfoy could not be Head Boy, not after everything that had happened.

_Who are _you_ to judge the position of others?_

She sighed, knowing the tiny and irritating voice of her subconscious was right. She had no right to make such judgmental assumptions.

"But—But that's—no, you can't be," Hermione stammered.

"I am," he replied, flashing his badge snobbishly. _Why_ was it that he always seemed to make her feel like a child?

Hermione's heart galloped into her stomach, twisting her abdomen into a pile of knots. She sank into the cushioned bench, trying and failing to think of a logical explanation for all of this. Meanwhile, Draco grew paler, to the point where she was convinced he was going to be sick. Just as she was about to ask if he needed her to fetch a trash basin, he spoke with a tremble.

"No," he whispered tremulously, his eyes finding the badge gleaming on her robes. "No—tell me you are not Head Girl. _Tell_ me McGonagall hasn't completely lost her bloody fucking mind."

"Watch your tongue!" she snapped despite herself.

"Honestly, Granger, don't be such a goodie—"

"_Why_ is it such a shock that I'm Head Girl?" she cut him off before he could insult her further.

"Because you're bloody_ Hermione Granger_," he shouted. "McGonagall _knows_ we have a past. We don't get along."

"Well, we seemed to be getting along just _fine_ before you decided to throw a little temper tantrum and act like a spoiled little child," Hermione scoffed.

"Are you telling me you don't think McGonagall has lost her marbles by pairing _us_ together?" Draco asked dubiously. "I can't live with _you!_"

"Believe me, Malfoy, I'm not too pleased with this turn of events either," Hermione stated, "_but_ putting that aside, as it turns out we _will_ be working together, I suggest we go over schedule times so that when the prefects arrive we won't look like complete—"

As if right on cue, the door slid open and a crowd of prefects peered in, obviously having overheard their escalating bickering.

"Hah! Bloody hell, you're kidding," Romilda Vane boomed, barging into the compartment. "I _thought _I heard you shouting, Hermione! Welcome to the team."

_How did Romilda Vane become a prefect?_ Hermione thought sourly and then shook her head. She had to remind herself not to snap. She took a calming breath, letting her argument with Draco dissipate.

"You two are the new Heads?" asked Michael Corner, his shaggy brown hair willowing into his equally dark eyes . "Has McGonagall lost her mind?"

"That's what I said," muttered a now disgruntled Draco from the corner.

"Never mind that," Hermione said impatiently, ready for this to be over. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

The prefects all gathered in, squishing together in the tiny compartment. By the end of the meeting, Hermione was wedged uncomfortably close to Draco in the far corner as the prefects shifted their schedules around, comparing timetables.

"Alright," Hermione called over their loud squabble, "our meeting is over. You can all return to your compartments now."

When no one seemed to hear her, Draco shouted, "Well, clear out, already!"

With parting goodbyes, the students finally quieted and left the small train cabin, leaving Hermione and Draco alone once more. Not only was she stressed because her head counterpart was the boy she'd grown up being bullied by, but now she had a throbbing headache.

"Well, I'll just leave you these copies and we can discuss more later," Hermione finalized and Draco nodded, snatching the papers from her grip.

Just then, as Draco and Hermione were shuffling their papers and preparing to leave, both grumpy and irritated with the other, the door slid open again.

"Professor Slughorn!" Hermione exclaimed upon seeing the exuberant, rosy cheeked man.

"Well, hello, Miss Granger," he greeted, shaking her hand. "It's good to see you. I just _knew_ you would be accepted as Head Girl. You'll do a splendid job, no question to it."

"Thank you, sir," she demurred softly, pleased.

"Ah, and Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn greeted, turning to shake Draco's hand. "Welcome back. I trust your summer went well?"

"It was decent," Draco drawled and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

He could at least _try_ to be pleasant. It seemed evident that Draco disliked Slughorn, for whatever reason he had to dislike him for, but the least he could do was be civil.

"I do hope you will be joining our little club again, Miss Granger," Slughorn invited, smiling welcomingly. "We have missed you greatly."

"Of course, sir," she agreed, much to her secret distaste. Oh, how she hated those parties.

"Tell your friend Ginerva she is welcome to come again as well," Slughorn continued and then, as if upon an afterthought, he turned to Draco. "Oh, and I suppose you can come too, Mr. Malfoy, since you are Head Boy."

Draco's jaw clenched and his cold gray eyes twitched. It was the simplest of movements, but Hermione could tell Draco seemed annoyed by Slughorn's obvious favoritism.

"Thank you, Professor. I'd be delighted."

Hermione snorted and when both of the men turned to stare at her, she quickly masked it with a cough.

"Well, I'd best be on my way," Slughorn announced and turned back toward the door. "I shall see you at the feast!"

"You really should mind your attitude," Hermione muttered to Draco as Slughorn danced away.

Hermione began to hurry toward the door when Draco shoved her shoulder with his.

"I haven't got an attitude, Granger," Draco growled and pushed past her.

"Hey!" she huffed, but it was unlikely he heard her or even cared for that matter.

Displeased, Hermione snapped the door shut behind her and ventured into the small hallway, following Draco's tall and shamefully graceful form down the narrow passageway. His walk was brisk and determined, his long legs covering more ground than her, thankfully putting some distance between the two of them.

_Clang!_

Hermione startled in her skin as the compartment door next to her slid open roughly.

"Get out of here, you perverted snake!" snarled a prissy blond Ravenclaw with caramelized skin and toffee hair.

Before she could register what was happening, she was tripping over herself, colliding with the wall as a tall mass of robes and skin smacked rudely into her. They crumpled to the carpeted train floor and Hermione's head thwacked the wall unpleasantly.

"Ah, it's you!"

Hermione shook her head fiercely and shoved at the Slytherin pinning her to the floor.

"Zabini, get _off_ of me this _instant_," she puffed adamantly.

"With pleasure, my dear," the flirtatious Italian boy said, jumping to his feet and holding out a dark skinned hand.

"What are you doing back here, Granger?" he asked as she accepted his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"I've decided to return to school," she answered, her eyebrows knitting together.

It seemed odd to Hermione that he was being so friendly to her, but then again she had never really taken the time to get to know Blaise Zabini. All she knew was that he had a reputation in the Slytherin House for being a womanizer and a tease. She also knew that Blaise and Draco had become friends during sixth year, but that was just because she had seen Draco with Blaise occasionally.

"Right, right. Uh, well," Blaise said, stumbling over a proper reply to this news. "I—er—see you have—"

Hermione crinkled her eyebrows as Blaise's eyes fell upon the shiny red and gold badge shimmering on her robes. His eyes widened and shifted toward Draco, who appeared more disgruntled than anything.

"You're the Head Girl?" Blaise gasped and then barked in laughter. "Oh, oh, that's so rich. Ahah! That is horribly and ironically funny. Who knew the old bat had such a sense of humor."

"Blaise, that was rude," scolded a sweet soprano voice from behind Hermione.

Hermione's eyes fell upon a beautiful girl, maybe two years younger than herself, with loopy golden hair and bright green eyes. The girl's peach colored lips parted and she smiled, revealing a set of straight white teeth. She extended a hand toward Hermione, shocking her so much that she actually had to give the girl a double-take. There was no mistaking by the forest green color of the girl's robes that she was a Slytherin. Yet, she was extending a hand toward Hermione to _voluntarily _touch her?

"Hi, I'm Astoria Greengrass," the girl greeted. "I don't believe we've met."

Hermione swallowed and shook her head, giving the girl a small and very confused smile as she took Astoria's hand in hers.

"Hermione Granger," she replied.

Astoria's eyes widened, her eyebrows rising in alarm.

"Wait, wait," she said hurriedly, looking between Hermione and Draco. "Hermione Granger?"

"The very same," whispered Blaise and they shared a look.

"Is this the girl you were telling me about Draco?"Astoria wondered, turning to arch an eyebrow at the debonair blond.

Hermione whipped around at this and Draco groaned, closing his eyes briefly.

"It gives me such comfort to know that you talk about me, Malfoy," Hermione teased, feeling oddly at ease with Astoria there.

Blaise barked out another laugh, shaking his head and muttering, "Who knew the pretty princess had a sense of humor?"

"Go away, Granger, before I catch your disease," Draco said, irritated, glaring at Blaise.

"Draco! Don't be so rude!" Astoria reprimanded and then turned to Hermione, shaking her head as the boys sauntered down the hallway. "I'm sorry about him. He can get so moody sometimes. Don't take it personally. There must be some reason you two were paired together, am I right?"

Hermione could tell the girl was trying to be helpful, but she obviously wasn't very close to Draco to understand just how much of a past he and Hermione had.

"I'll see you around, Hermione," Astoria said as she set off after the two boys.

"Yeah, see you," Hermione whispered, still incredibly puzzled by the _nice _Slytherin girl. She was so used to Slytherin girls like Pansy Parkinson who made fun of her hair and insulted her body.

Frustrated at the turn of events, Hermione stomped off toward her compartment. Once she reached it, she threw open the door and slammed it shut, breathing heavily.

"What happened to you?" asked an alarmed Neville. "You were gone for ages."

"Uh oh," said Ginny, looking at Hermione with wide eyes, instantly knowing her far too well.

With a long, heated breath, Hermione straightened and narrowed her eyes, readying herself to give the news.

"You will never _believe_ who made Head Boy."


	5. Unity

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing from Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Thank you to all my lovely readers and reviewers. I'm especially thankful for all the reviews I've had so far-they make life bright! I _am_ disappointed in the lack of them, however.

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Four<span>_

_Unity_

* * *

><p><em>I'm not perfect, but I keep trying<br>'Cause that's what I said I would do from the start.  
>I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave.<br>Was it something I said or just my personality?_

"_Perfect"—Hedley_

* * *

><p>"Oh, good. It looks like we'll be arriving shortly."<p>

At the sound of Astoria's soprano voice, Draco peered up from his Head schedule to look curiously out the train's window. He glared once his eyes fell upon the looming castle in the distance—the home of his impending doom.

"Bloody fantastic," he drawled, folding his Head schedule into a square and depositing it into his pocket.

"Cheer up, mate," Blaise said from the seat opposite him. "It's just Granger."

"Just Granger?" scoffed Draco incredulously. "_Just_ Granger? Blaise, have you gone completely mad?"

"No, but I'm starting to think you have," the handsome Italian responded lightly, turning a crisp page from his brand new edition of _Advanced Transfiguration: Grade 7_.

"I don't understand why you have such a problem with her," Astoria piped from the corner, tearing her eyes away from her copy of _Witch Weekly_. "She seemed perfectly civil and kind to me."

Draco snorted.

"You do have to admit, mate," Blaise added with a smirk, "she's gotten on well."

"Please, Blaise, the very thought of you admiring her that way revolts me."

"She _is_ very pretty," Astoria said wistfully.

Draco wrinkled his nose in response to this. Astoria could be so childish sometimes. It was one of the things he both loved and hated about her—her innocence, her acceptance, her naivety. But in circumstances concerning Hermione Granger, he very much hated her positive outlook.

"She's foul," Draco said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Really, Draco," tutted Astoria, glancing up at him disapprovingly from her article on Celestina Warbeck. "She must be responsible, polite, and studious if she's Head Girl, otherwise McGonagall would never have chosen her. I hardly think she is the monster you make her out to be. The whole reason we've gone back to Hogwarts is for a new start, to make new friends."

"Please," Draco disregarded. "I'm not going to be making friends with Granger _anytime_ soon."

"Well, fine," Astoria sniffed, shifting to face away from him, her eyes glued on a recipe on Cauldron Cakes.

"Are you really not going to talk to me now?" Draco asked, and when she continued to ignore him, he laughed. "Just because I'm not thrilled about spending all of my time with Granger?"

"Not to mention that you don't want to be best pals with her," Blaise joked and both of them snickered.

"No," Astoria clipped, shooting him a glare before whipping around again. "I'm not going to speak to you when you are critical, rude, and moody! You've been spewing angst ever since you found out Hermione Granger was Head Girl! All I've heard for the last three hours is how horrible and monstrous she is, how obnoxious she is, how ugly she used to look. I am sick and _tired_ of it, Draco Malfoy. So, no, I will _not_ be speaking to you until you have a better attitude." She took a pause to breathe in deeply and collect herself before adding, "You're always so _horrible_ when you're in a foul mood."

"Well, you've successfully set her off," Blaise muttered, wide-eyed.

Draco resumed staring out the window. The rolling hills of the countryside had long since disappeared, replaced by a tall black forest which now surrounded the train. High-topped trees sprung out of the way of the whisking train as it darted closer to the towering castle. A familiar tug caused the train to slow its hurried pace. It finally crawled to a stop, moaning softly as it rested, exhausted, at Hogsmeade Station.

Blaise yawned as he stretched his long and muscular arms over his head of thick, dark hair. Astoria quickly gathered her things and threw open the compartment door, disappearing into the cluttered hallway without so much as a second glance at the pair of them.

"After her then, you reckon?" Blaise asked, peeking into the hallway.

Draco and Blaise hurried after the small blond, eventually catching up to her as they jumped off the train. The air was damp and cool and smelled heavily of pine.

"And there she goes," breathed Blaise, setting after Astoria, who was now entering a black carriage. A black carriage, Draco noticed, that was no longer pulled by an invisible force. A carriage that was carried by skeletal, fleshy creatures with milky, unnerving eyes that made him shudder. Even after last year, he still wasn't used to seeing them.

"Draco, you coming?" called Blaise.

Draco climbed into the carriage, shutting the door firmly behind him with a sharp _snap_. Inside the dimly lit basin of the carriage, Draco noted Astoria in the farthest seat away from him, sitting next to a Ravenclaw with long raven hair. Draco nudged Blaise over so that he could have more room and patiently waited as the carriage clunked along the rocky pathway up to the castle. When the carriage jerked to a stop, Draco was the first to exit, holding the door open so that everyone else in the carriage could exit without hassle.

"Home away from home," Astoria sighed as her eyes found the parapets and turrets of stone and the high towers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "I've really missed this place."

_Oddly_, thought Draco, _so have I._

"Yeah, yeah, the place is beautiful. Now, can we please stop lingering about? I don't know about you lot, but I'm _starving_," Blaise declared, trudging up the stone steps toward the entrance where Filtch stood squinting narrowly at students as they walked past him, Mrs. Norris hissing at his feet.

Halfway to their destination—the Great Hall—Draco slung his arm around Astoria, nudging her so that she would eventually turn her head toward him.

"You're not still cross with me, are you?" he asked.

"Yes," she responded quickly. Despite herself, however, her lips began to curl upward until she was smiling warmly up at him. "No," she relented, giving him a sideways hug. "How is it that I can't stay mad at you?"

"Heaven help us all, none of us can," announced a sultry, familiar voice.

"Pansy!" Astoria exclaimed, leaping from Draco's arms to fling her arms around her dark haired friend.

Pansy's indigo eyes found Draco and sparkled as she smiled at him, giving him and Blaise a small wave while still wrapped tightly in Astoria's embrace. She wore her hair up in a high ponytail, a few loose and pin-straight strands straying free.

"Hey, Stori," Pansy chuckled, finally releasing herself from the blond's tight hold.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence," said Blaise by way of greeting.

"What?"

"Where have you been?" Blaise wondered. "We haven't seen you at all today."

"I was with Theo."

"Oh, and how was that?" asked Draco. "I haven't seen him in ages."

"Well, you know Theo," Pansy said. "He likes to keep to himself."

Pansy and Theodore Nott had been dating for roughly seven months. They started dating mid-March of last year, when Hogwarts was at its lowest and darkest point, under the ruthless and brutal rule of the Carrows and Snape—though no one ever saw Snape. Everyone that attended Hogwarts during the war last year had changed, some for the worse, some for the better. In Pansy's case, she had changed for the better, and it had mostly been Theodore's doing.

It had been her lowest point—difficulties at home, struggling with grades, Hogwarts was no longer safe and comforting, Voldemort on the rise—and she had been very depressed—until Theodore came along and changed it all. Draco had been wrapped up in his duty to Voldemort and his father's wishes, and sure, Pansy had Astoria and Blaise—their friendship had grown stronger through that period of time—but it had never filled the empty space inside her.

And then came along the sturdy and quiet Theodore Nott, whose own father had been a Death Eater like Draco's. Theodore hated drama—which didn't make sense on why he ended up dating Pansy, because she was _very_ dramatic—and he was a good place for Pansy to land.

He helped the insecure, self-conscious, bullying little girl flourish into a beautiful, sophisticated, strong-willed woman, and helped her see that it didn't matter what everyone else thought of her as long as she felt good about who she was and the decisions she was making.

"How's he doing?" Draco asked.

"He's alright. Quieter than usual," she replied, biting her bottom lip and shrugging. "He hasn't been talking much to me lately."

A crowd was starting to pool around the Great Hall as everyone waited to shuffle in and find their seats. A few paces away stood Granger and her posse, chatting excitedly.

"Theodore's _always_ quiet, Panse," Blaise snorted.

"Don't worry about it," Draco whispered to her, giving her hand a squeeze. Draco couldn't help but notice how Hermione's eyes zeroed in on their hands and how she crinkled her brow like she did in class whenever she was confused."You're just over-thinking everything like you always do, you worry wort."

"He's just been acting kind of strange lately," Pansy confided as they started pouring into the Great Hall. "Maybe I'll ask Astoria if she's noticed anything different about him lately."

"Why would you ask Astoria?" he wondered.

Pansy shrugged. "They've been talking a lot over the summer. It's really important to me that my boyfriend and my best friend be really good friends. I think they've gotten really close. They seem to get along pretty well whenever the three of us hang out together."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "That's interesting. Yeah, maybe you should ask her."

"I think I will," she finalized.

Blaise suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, causing both Pansy and Draco to ram right into him.

"Blaise?" they chorused, puzzled.

"What's she done?" he gasped, gazing in horror at the long, narrow wooden tables that belonged to each of the houses. "Good Lord, she really has gone batty."

"What's going on?" asked Ginny Weasley, coming to stand beside them. "Why isn't anyone sitting down?"

"What've they done to the tables?" Neville Longbottom wondered, scratching his head.

"McGonagall switched up the tables!" exclaimed Blaise.

And sure enough, the old lady had finally lost her marbles. Instead of the Slytherin table being separated from the Gryffindor table by the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses like it had been for decades, the Slytherin table now sat right next to the Gryffindor table.

"Is she asking for a blood bath?" gasped the Ravenclaw girl with raven hair that had shared their carriage earlier. "You don't combine Slytherins and Gryffindors together and expect them to not tear each other apart."

"Well, I think it's a marvelous idea," Hermione stated and Draco groaned, throwing her a withering glare.

_Of course she would,_ he thought bitterly.

"What?" she asked innocently as everyone gaped at her. "Oh, come on! This is our chance to finally get over House prejudices."

"Right," Ginny snorted. "That's likely. Keep dreaming, 'Mione."

"Come on, let's go sit down," said Neville, pulling both girls toward the Gryffindor table before they could argue more.

Reluctantly, the students began to shuffle toward their tables, slipping into their spots on the long benches. Within minutes, the entire room was echoing with laughter and chatter, the huge table change surprisingly discarded from their minds.

"Hey, Stori," said Pansy and Astoria turned to look at her. "Can I ask you a question about Theo?"

"Theo? Sure," Astoria replied brightly. "What's up?"

"Well, he just seems off lately," Pansy whispered. "I don't know what's going on with him; he won't talk to me about it. I was just wondering if maybe he's talked to you?"

"M—Me?" Astoria stammered, taken aback. "W—Why would he talk to me?"

"Well, you two seem to have gotten really close lately," Pansy noted. "I was just hoping that maybe he'd told you what's bothering him."

"No, of course not," Astoria answered quickly, inspecting her nails. "Anyway, I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just back to school jitters. He'll come around like he always does."

"You sound like Draco," Pansy muttered, slumping. She suddenly brightened, as if something had just occurred to her, and whipped around to face Draco.

"So, I heard about you and Granger," she teased, nudging him playfully. "Oh la la."

Involuntarily, his gray eyes fell upon Hermione, sitting only a few paces away from him. She was leaning over toward Neville, smiling encouragingly.

"Oh, stuff it," Draco grumbled, ripping his eyes away from her. "How'd you hear about it?"

"Who _hasn't_ heard about it, Draco? You're Head Boy with the Gryffindor Princess. It's priceless gossip. People will be talking about this for _weeks_."

Draco groaned, running a hand through his platinum hair.

"She's a horrid creature and I don't know what the bloody hell McGonagall was thinking when she decided to pair me up with _that_."

"Oh, not _again_," Astoria huffed.

"Has he been like this all day, then?" guessed Pansy.

"_All_ day," Blaise said, shaking his head. "Been driving me and Astoria here bloody nuts."

"Well, I'm sorry," Draco scoffed. "Forgive me for being sour about McGonagall stamping away my soul, my freedom, my relaxation, and my very _sanity_. Not _only_ did she make me Head Boy—which I would have initially been fine with—but she just had to go and make _Granger_ the bleeding Head Girl! It's utter madness, I tell you. I thought this year was going to be relaxing without the Dark Lord breathing down my back, but _no_, I'm just not that lucky. If anything, this will be worse."

"Honestly, Draco. I'm surprised with you," Pansy stated, frowning at him. "You're acting very immature about all of this."

Draco gawked at her, sputtering.

"I thought you'd be on _my_ side. You hate her!"

"Draco, use your words properly," she laughed. "I do not _hate_ Granger. I don't like her, certainly—everyone knows that much. I find her to be an annoying, two-faced, wand-stuck-up-the-arse prude, but I don't _hate_ her."

Draco growled at her.

"_Anyway_," she continued, ignoring him, "the whole point of us coming back to Hogwarts in the first place was so that we could all _move on_. You've resorted to reverting back to the way you two were before the war, when in all reality, both of you have probably drastically changed. I'm not telling you to be friends with her, but you _are_ going to be sharing a private dorm with her, _and_ spending the majority of your time with her, so I would advise you to at least _attempt_ to be civil with her."

"So, you don't think McGonagall is mad for putting the pair of us together, then?"

"Oh, no," she corrected immediately. "There's no questioning that she's lost her mind. She's a complete loony bin if she thinks the two of you are going to survive the year together and provide 'unity' among the students. It's absurd."

As if right on cue, McGonagall rose from her seat.

"Welcome," she addressed with a stiff smile, "to another year at Hogwarts. A special and very warm welcome to those who have returned to repeat their seventh year, due to the events which happened last term. As many of you may have discovered, I have rearranged the tables to my liking. I have done this in order to encourage each and _every_ one of you to no longer hold prejudices within the walls of Hogwarts. It is our mission this year to make sure every student feels equal and feels a sense of comradeship with students from _each_ house."

"That's rich," mumbled a low voice, so close to Draco that he almost jumped in surprise.

"Theodore," he greeted as the tall and strong-muscled young man slid into the empty seat next to Pansy.

"How have you been?" Theodore asked and Draco shrugged.

"Decent. And yourself?"

"Same."

"Hey, Stori," Theo acknowledged, nodding toward Astoria.

"Hi, Theo," she whispered, smiling smally. Draco couldn't help but notice how her cheeks suddenly flared, how she began to play with the bracelet on her wrist, how her gooseberry green eyes kept wandering, trying not to fall on Theo, but how they always seemed to come back to him.

"Where have you been?" Pansy asked him.

"Nowhere," he answered simply, shrugging. "You know how I hate crowds, Pansy. I always wait until the last minute to sit down."'

"Well, you just wandered off," she continued. "I would have liked to have known, instead of just being left on my own, you know?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized and Pansy sighed.

"And now I would like to introduce our new staff members," McGonagall rang, though her voice was not nearly as loud as Dumbledore's had been. "Filling our Transfiguration position—Professor Corrine Lavinia, all the way from Italy's finest of academies."

There was a timid smattering of applause as a model-like woman with rich mocha skin and beautiful, long black curly hair stood up gracefully, dressed in white silk robes, and bowed her head toward the student body respectfully. She was incredibly attractive, there was no denying that.

"Italian, eh? Can't be a relative of yours, Blaise," commented Pansy. "She's clearly far more attractive than you'll ever be."

"You're only jealous of my devilishly good looks, Panse," he sniped cheerfully back. "And I certainly _hope_ she and I aren't related. Sweet Merlin, she is pleasing to the eye."

"Pig," Pansy muttered.

"And next, filling our Defense Against the Dark Arts position—Professor Dimitri Thorne, who previously taught at Durmstrang Institute."

Again, there was a small amount of applause as a handsome man stood up. He was dressed in black, fashionable robes that clearly cost a hefty sum of money. He was clean cut and clean shaven with thick black hair which contrasted elegantly with his pale skin and curled slightly at the ends. His eyes were a unique shade amber, deep and pensive. A small and timid smile played on his lips, as if he wasn't all that sure of himself.

"Bloody hell," Pansy cawed appreciatively, licking her lips and staring greedily at the man. "Good bloody hell."

"Careful, pet, you're starting to drool," Blaise cracked and Pansy shot him an annoyed look.

"He is very handsome," Astoria agreed.

"Handsome? Honey, _Draco_ is handsome," laughed Pansy. "That man up there is _God-sent_."

Draco rolled his eyes at his dramatic friend and watched as Slughorn began to announce the incoming first years.

"Oh, wonderful," Blaise delighted, sitting forward. "New bait."

"Nelsen, Megan," he announced and the Sorting Hat was placed atop the curls of a tiny blond girl. "Gryffindor!"

"Vende, Jamal," Slughorn called and a tiny black boy scurried up to the stool. "Ravenclaw!"

After the first years had all been sorted, one young man still remained, although he looked much older than a first year. McGonagall once again came to stand at the pulpit.

"And we have one more sorting to be done," she declared. "We have a new student—a transfer. His name is Pieter Kartrick."

An uneasy silence billowed around the room as Pieter took his seat on the stool and the hat was placed upon his head. He was a tall boy, not nearly as tall as Draco and Blaise, but impressive still the same. His irises blinked black, like two pools of tar dripping in naked snow. His skin was equally pale, like it hadn't been exposed to much sunlight. He sat with a hunch and his nose hung at a crooked angle, like it had been broken before and never properly fixed.

"Bleh, bleh, bleh," Blaise said in a Romanian accent, moving his robes to his chin in a bat-like fashion. "He vants to suck your blood! Bleh, bleh!"

He moved toward Astoria, leaning in to nip at the exposed flesh of her neck with his teeth.

"He does look very vampire-esque, doesn't he?" Pansy agreed with a chuckle.

"Gryffindor!"

"How is that possible?" cried Draco as Pieter set off toward the Gryffindor table and took a seat not too far away from Hermione. "He's a complete Slytherin! Just look at the way he carries himself."

His friends shrugged, unable to come up with a reason. The mystery of Pieter Kartrick's sorting was soon snuffled out, however, when McGonagall declared that the feast commence. Draco and Blaise immediately lunged for various items of food, filling up their plates.

"Honestly, I don't see how you two manage to eat so much and still look the way you do," grumbled Pansy. "It's just not fair."

"Well, now that I'm Quidditch captain, I need to keep up my energy," Blaise defended, winking at her. "And speaking of me being Quidditch captain, I'm holding tryouts tomorrow after classes."

"So soon?" asked Astoria, surprised.

"Yeah, what's the rush?" wondered Pansy.

"I want to get my team assembled as quickly as I can so that we can have more practice time," explained Blaise. "We are beating Gryffindor this year, no matter _what_ it takes." He looked pointedly at Draco. "And Ginny Weasley is captain of the Gryffindor team this year, so I'm going to need your help this year, mate. You in?"

Draco swallowed a mouthful of chicken and shook his head

"No," he answered. "Sorry, man."

"Oh, come on, mate! It's a new year. Join the team," pleaded Blaise.

"I've got too much going on, Blaise," protested Draco, and he sighed. "It's just not my thing right now."

"Damn," Blaise grumbled, sticking his fork into his potatoes grumpily.

Draco sighed. Part of him desperately wished that he could tryout for the team, and part of him knew he could handle being on the team, being Head Boy, and juggling studies—he'd already learned all his N.E.W.T level courses anyway—but the fact of the matter was, he just didn't _want_ to play Quidditch. It just wasn't him anymore. Sure, he still loved it, and he loved playing it, but in the last couple of years, Draco no longer looked to Quidditch as the most important part of his life anymore. Quidditch was just a pastime he enjoyed whenever he wasn't burdened by other things or living up to his father's expectations.

"Uh oh, you've got company," Pansy warned, poking him in the ribs.

Draco looked up from his empty plate, just in time to notice Hermione walking swiftly and determinedly toward him. Several Slytherin girls sneered at her and called her unpleasant names as she passed them, but she didn't seem to hear them.

"Draco," she greeted stiffly, all business. "Can I speak with you?"

A few Slytherin boys cat-called and jeered. Draco was tempted to give them a rather improper gesture with his fingers, but then decided he'd rather not hear a mouthful of scolding from the Gryffindor girl in front of him.

"Well, what is it?" he asked.

"We have an appointment with Professor McGonagall," she reminded him.

"I know that," he snapped. "I'm not daft. I think I can remember a thing or two."

She looked taken aback.

"I didn't mean to offend you," she said hastily. "I just wanted to remind you in case you had forgotten, and—"

"And what, Granger?"

"And see if you wanted to walk up to her office together," she finished quietly.

"I think I can manage to find my way up there with_out_ you—" Draco started.

"He'd love to," interrupted Blaise and Pansy gave him a little shove. "And don't worry, he doesn't bite. But I can't say the same about me."

Hermione looked horrified and repulsed, quickly looking away as Blaise winked at her.

"Ignore the prat," Draco said. "Don't flatter yourself, Granger. He does that with everyone."

They quickly exited the almost empty Great Hall and took a flight of stairs.

"I was hardly flattered," she argued quietly, barely audible.

Within the span of a few silently painful minutes, the two of them reached the office of the new headmistress. Their meeting with McGonagall lasted far longer than it probably should have in Draco's opinion, and finally, after almost a full hour, they were allowed to leave the confines of the spacious office.

"Oh, how exciting," Hermione gushed, still pouring over the paperwork she'd been given mere seconds before. "Isn't this exciting?"

"Absolutely thrilling," Draco deadpanned and when she flickered her eyes over his face and frowned, he snorted.

"You're not excited at _all_ to be Head Boy?"

"Honestly, Granger, for someone prided on for her brains, you can be really daft," he said and quickly turned the corner.

"That's a horrible thing to say," Hermione objected, turning the corner to catch up to him and running right into him. "Why've you stopped?"

"This is the tapestry," he pointed out, gesturing to the elaborate Persian tapestry covering the length of the wall."So, that means our Head dormitory should be on the opposite wall."

He turned to face the wall opposite the tapestry and smirked triumphantly. Before them stood a large painting of two women—one blond and one ginger—in high colored dresses, their waists cinched by their corsets, their long hair tidily mounded into beautiful up-dos. They were both fanning themselves with elaborate peacock fans and sipping wine in crystal goblets.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" asked the blond woman, turning her oval shaped face to peer down at the pair of them.

"Don't be ridiculous, Felicity," giggled the red-head. "They are obviously our new Head Boy and Girl."

"I was _asking_ their names, Virginia," snapped the blond, her pale blue eyes flashing. "I obviously know they are the Head Boy and Head Girl."

"My name is Hermione Granger," offered Hermione, obviously trying to break their tension so that she and Draco could enter their dormitory. "And this is Draco Malfoy."

"Carpe Diem," Draco drawled in response.

"Well," Virginia declared, crossing her arms, "he certainly knows how to seize the day. You didn't have to be so brash, you know. We were only trying to make conversation."

"Oh, good heavens, don't be so offended," Felicity scoffed, snapping her fan shut and setting down her glass of wine. "Just let them in. They're probably extremely tired."

"Fine," sniffed the red haired Virginia and the portrait began to swing forward. "Might I advise you teach him his manners, young lady?"

Hermione chuckled in response and said, "I've been trying for years, actually, but I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."

Draco scoffed and walked through the portrait hole. When he entered the Common Room, he was taken aback. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen in Hogwarts. The room consisted of a large fireplace made from cream colored marble with flecks of gold strewn all about it, peach colored wallpaper, a mahogany coffee table, a large and plush peach couch and two cream colored armchairs, an elaborately tailored rug, a bookcase, and a large table for studying. Above the fireplace hung two flags, one a dark crimson and one a forest green—to represent their houses.

"It's so—" he started, unable to come up with anything sufficient to say.

"Unexpected?" Hermione suggested.

"Right."

"McGonagall probably charmed the room to look the way it does because she didn't want there to be any prejudices with our houses," Hermione explained.

"It could have been a different color than pink," he complained. "That's going a pinch _too_ far."

"I think it's beautiful. Plus, it's not pink," argued Hermione. "It's peach."

"Same thing."

"Not really," she insisted, laughing softly. "They're two totally different colors."

"Close enough," he said, rolling his eyes.

She gave an audible huff, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest, the smile slipping off her face.

"Are you always this negative or is it just me?"

_Well, isn't she blunt?_ thought Draco.

"No, believe me, it's just you," he stated.

She took a step back, glaring at him.

"You know, I thought you would have changed after everything that's happened," she told him. "I thought you'd at least _attempt_ to grow up. But it appears I'm wrong."

When he said nothing, she continued.

"You've been nothing but rude to me for seven years," she said. "I haven't done _anything_ to you. What is it about me that torments you so much?"

"Honestly, Granger, not everything is about you," he snapped. "Stop being so bloody emotional."

"_Emotional?_ Out of _all_ the things—" She broke off to calm herself, breathing in deeply. "Well, I suggest _you_ stop being such a spoiled little child about things and get over whatever problem it is you have with me, because like it or not, you and I are going to be spending practically all of our time together, and I'll not stand by and let you belittle me anymore."

"Are we done here?" Draco asked once he knew for certain she had nothing else to say.

"You're impossible," she fumed, throwing her hands up in the air.

"And you're over dramatic," he countered and turned on his heel, heading up the stairs to his dorm. "I'd love to stay and listen to you bite my head off, Granger, but I'm exhausted, so it looks like your little tantrum is over for tonight."

"Good_night_!" she called after him loudly.

He responded by slamming his door and leaning against it, breathing heavily.

"Bloody _beast_, she is," he snarled, ripping off his robes and changing for sleep. "Stupid, filthy little vixen."

This continued for several more minutes until he was lying in bed, still fuming. Eventually, Draco was able to calm down enough to relax. He succumbed to sleep mere moments later, so distracted that he didn't have time to realize he'd forgotten to take off his ring.


	6. Dreamlike

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing from Harry Potter _—_it all belongs to J.K. Rowling!

**A/N:** Bonjour, all my wonderful readers! I must apologize to you for not updating for quite some time. Recently, I've been incredibly ill and haven't been able to much, but I'm doing better_—_better enough to write, at least, which is all that really matters, am I right? Thanks so much for the feedback_; _it's good to hear that you're enjoying it. And just so everyone is clear, the plotlines and the characters have vastly changed since Alexandrite Original. This one will be better :) Hope to hear from you all very soon. Hugs and kisses to all!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Five<span>_

_Dreamlike_

* * *

><p><em>Seems that I have been held, in some dreaming state<br>A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake  
>No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber<br>Until I realize that it was you who held me under_

"_Blinding"—Florence + The Machine_

* * *

><p><em>Bang. Bang. Bang.<em>

"Malfoy, are you up, yet?"

_Bang. Bang._

"If you aren't awake, yet, you'll be needing to get up quickly. Breakfast is over."

_Bang. Bang._

"That means classes will be starting in only a few minutes."

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang!_

"Malfoy!"

_BANG._

"Bloody hell!" Draco shouted, jolting upward.

Frowning, he glared venomously at the door to his Head dorm. His frown further deepened to a scowl once he realized who the voice shouting at him from behind the door belonged to. The voice that had brought him out of the most peculiar bout of dreams, full of swirling colors and dizzying scenes. As he scrambled out of bed_—_only then noting the time flashing on the clock on his nightstand—he racked his brain, trying his hardest to remember the dreams he'd been having before he had been so rudely awakened.

As he thought about his dream, he remembered bits and pieces_—_ink bottles shattering on the floor, a potion exploding, resulting in a rather foul stench, Pansy fawning over the good looks of some bloke, and a list of answers to what seemed like a Transfiguration quiz. Draco shook his head, but the more he thought about his dream, the more the dream became clearer and clearer, until he could remember every detail of it as clearly as he could see his hand.

_Bang. Bang.  
><em>

He growled, stripping off his pajamas and pulling on his black trousers. He was in the process of stuffing his ironed Oxford shirt into his pants when_—_

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

_"Granger!_" Draco hollered, chucking his shoe at the door. It crashed into the wooden surface, muffling out Hermione's insistent knocking. "I swear to God, if you do not _quit _that infernal knocking, I'll have your head!"

"Then open your door, already! I don't have much time."

Draco cursed and threw open his door.

"What the hell do you want?" Draco demanded, scowling darkly at the girl who had invaded his slumber.

"You're rather grouchy," she noted, shuffling in her school bag. "I take it you aren't a morning owl."

"I'm not an owl at all, you coot," he said sourly. "What do you want?"

"No need to be snippy," she sniffed, taking out a piece of parchment, which she handed over to him. "Since you weren't at breakfast, I took the liberty of procuring your schedule. Here."

Draco, surprised by her kindness and also a bit miffed about the idea of her touching his things, tore the parchment from her hands and abruptly began closing the door.

"You could at least say 'thank you'," she huffed.

He resumed his actions and slammed the door in her face. The sound of her intake of angered air made him smirk and he turned away to grab his school bag.

"Classes start in ten minutes, you know!"

"_I know, Granger!_" Draco snarled. "Good_ Lord_, she is annoying."

Draco quickly scanned his schedule. His classes for that semester weren't horrid, he had to admit. That day he had Advanced Potions with Slughorn, followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts with Thorne, Advanced Transfiguration, and a short lunch period, then followed by Arithmancy with Vector and Herbology with Sprout. It was going to be a long day, that was for sure.

To his relief, he noticed that Hermione hadn't waited up for him, and hurried to the dungeons for Potions. Once he arrived in the cool, darkened chamber, he felt a pang in his heart and sucked in a breath, looking around him. He'd lived practically his whole life in the dungeons of Hogwarts, having been a Slytherin. His favorite class had also been in the dungeons of the castle, taught by Severus Snape_—_until, of course, he was replaced by Horace Slughorn_—_the ponce. Draco thought Slughorn was an absolute idiot_—_well, not really. Mostly, he despised Slughorn because he wasn't Snape. And now that Snape_—_who had been Draco's mentor, a man he'd looked up to_—_was dead, having Slughorn teaching his class made it all that much harder on him.

The bell gave a shrill ring and Draco hurried to the only seat open.

"Thanks for saving me a seat," Draco whispered as he wedged himself in the seat next to Astoria. Behind them sat Theodore, who already had his notebook propped up and waiting. He gave Draco a stiff nod and returned his eyes to Slughorn.

As Slughorn began to babble about how wonderful it was to see all of them again, Draco let his eyes wander. They fell, as if by dooming instinct, on Hermione Granger. She sat across the room, next to Neville Longbottom. In front of her, Romilda Vane and another nameless girl sat chatting excitedly. Hermione seemed pleased to be sitting next to Neville, but incredibly annoyed by the dark haired girl sitting in front of her. He noticed, as the period went on, that Romilda never closed her mouth. The girl continued to gossip the entire period, leaving Hermione looking very irritated.

"Now, enough of my lecture," Slughorn announced, smiling and clapping his hands. "Get to work! You have a half hour left of class time, so use it wisely. Partner with who you are sitting by."

The minutes ticked away as he and Astoria set to work. Astoria was not that good at Potions and she seemed to be struggling with cutting the ingredient the right way, so Draco offered to trade her jobs. She seemed perfectly happy to read off the instructions and let Draco drop in the ingredients. But it appeared Draco and Astoria weren't the only partnership struggling with their potion.

"I can't do this," Neville was saying despairingly. "I'm horrible in this subject."

"Neville, don't you dare say that," Hermione objected, swatting his hand. "You're a fine student. You just need to have more faith in yourself."

"I'm going to fail, Hermione!" protested Neville. "Why did I let you convince me into taking _Advanced_ Potions?"

"Because you can do this," Hermione stated, stirring in some beetle shells. "I'll help you, don't worry. Here, how about we switch places for a few minutes. The potion is almost done. I'll read and you can stir in the last of the ingredients. Okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Hermione said. "Now, add in the crushed tiger tooth powder. Make sure you only dump in a fourth of it, though. Otherwise, it will_—_"

_BANG!_

Hermione gave a shriek and Neville yelped as their potion erupted in their faces, spewing orange liquid onto Romilda Vane and her gossiping friend.

"Ew!" cried Romilda, inspecting her potion-drenched locks. "This is so disgusting."

A putrid stench began to encircle the room and Draco shook his head.

"Thanks, Longbottom," snapped the friend rudely. "This will take _hours_ to get out."

"Ignore them," Hermione insisted, but the crestfallen Neville turned his head and sighed.

"Poor Neville," said Astoria, shaking her head. "He's never been very good at Potions, has he?"

"No," Draco answered. He was suddenly overcome with deja vu. He couldn't help feeling as if he'd witnessed Neville Longbottom exploding his potion already that day.

When the bell rang several minutes later, Hermione stayed behind to help Neville clean up the mess. Draco and Astoria followed Romilda Vane and her friend out the door. They reeked of potion.

"Hey, I'm going to head off to Charms with Theo," Astoria said, breaking away from him. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah," Draco answered, surprised to see the pair of them getting so close.

By the time he got to Defense, nearly half the class had already filed in, eager to meet their new professor. In the corner, Draco noticed Ginny Weasley, who had apparently just noticed the potion-covered Romilda. The redhead giggled, turning bright red, and Romilda turned around to glare at her. Just then, Hermione waltzed through the open door and hurried over to her friend.

"Where've you been?" asked Ginny. "And what happened to your robes?"

"Potion accident," replied the small brunette, tucking a strand of curly honey hair behind her ear.

"You mean Neville," Ginny corrected and Hermione grimaced.

"He tried," she said, as if that changed the outcome and state of her robes.

"Draco!"

Draco whipped around at the mention of his name, just in time to see Pansy plow into him. She pecked him on the cheek and greeted him with a wide smile.

"You're happy this morning," he observed.

"Well, my best friend is in my class," she told him, squeezing his hand. "And the professor is a knock-out."

Draco rolled his eyes, turning to face the front of the classroom where Professor Thorne now stood, quieting the class. As he spoke, he noticed that all the girls in the room apart from Hermione and occasionally Ginny, swooned over him. Draco didn't understand how the man's accent was such a turn-on, but apparently the way a man spoke made women go nuts.

"Now, as I am new, I would like to get to know everyone," Thorne said. "I will go around the class and you will tell me your name, your year, your favorite color, your favorite subject, and your favorite hobby. Let's start with you, young lady."

Romilda Vane cleared her throat and flipped her orange-spotted hair, trying and failing to come off as attractive. "My name is Romilda Vane, I'm a sixth year, my favorite color is pink, my favorite subject is Defense, and my favorite hobby is being with my friends."

Draco snickered as Ginny pretended to shove her finger down her throat and gag. It seemed the Weaselette had a sense of humor.

"And it would appear to be your turn, Miss_—_?" Thorne said, gesturing to Ginny.

"Weasley_—_Ginny Weasley. Seventh year, favorite color is green, favorite subject is Defense, and favorite hobby is Quidditch."

"Oo, Quidditch," Thorne said. "I'm not one for playing Quidditch myself, but I do enjoy the occasional game. And who is your lovely friend?"

At this, Hermione blushed and bowed her head.

"Erm," she started shyly, "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm a seventh year, my favorite color is coral, my favorite subject is probably Transfiguration, and my favorite hobby is reading."

Instead of saying anything as he had toward Ginny, Thorne just smiled encouragingly at Hermione. Draco internally groaned. Already, it seemed Granger had become another star pupil, without even having to pluck out her wand from her pocket.

Just then, the door to the Defense classroom swung open and Pieter Kartrick_—_the Slytherin-like boy who had been appallingly sorted into Gryffindor the previous evening_—_briskly entered. He walked with hunched shoulders, his black eyes darting over the room as he came to stand by Thorne. With a pale hand, he presented Thorne with a crumpled piece of parchment_—_a note, Draco presumed_—_and then went to stand toward the back of the room.

"Well, how nice," Thorne commented, smiling. "It seems Mr. Kartrick has just transferred into our class."

Everyone stared at the newcomer, unsure of what to think.

"Now," Thorne said, clapping his hands together. "Where were we? Ah, yes, you there, toward the wall."

Draco sighed. Blast. It was his turn.

"Draco Malfoy, seventh year," he drawled and Thorne's eyes narrowed, his small smile drooping ever slightly. Draco couldn't say he hadn't expected this. He was used to this sort of reaction from people now. "Favorite color is dark blue, favorite class is Potions, and favorite hobby is Quidditch."

"And reading," Pansy butted in helpfully. "He loves to read."

At this, Hermione's head shot up and she scrunched her eyebrows together, as if this were the most peculiar news she'd ever heard.

"And who might you be, young lady?" Thorne chuckled, his amber eyes glinting at Pansy.

"Pansy Parkinson, sir," she replied, quick as a whip, and then began listing off her favorite things.

After Professor Thorne ventured onto another student, Pansy spun toward Draco, clutching her heart, her mouth wide open. Her indigo eyes were alight and giddy, full of adoration. Draco rolled his eyes. He didn't really like Thorne. Part of him thought he was a bit too fake and too nice to be a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and that McGonagall could have picked someone a whole lot better. But mostly, he had to admit, Draco didn't like Thorne because every female within a seven foot radius of the man would _always_ oggle him and go out of their minds. It was like he was a walking, talking, breathing Amortentia potion!

When, finally, the entire class had introduced themselves, Thorne began to talk about himself. Draco rolled his eyes, bored out of his mind, and tuned him out. Meanwhile, Romilda Vane and her gossiping goose were at it again, whispering.

"He's just so attractive," she was saying and her friend nodded after a second of thought.

"Yeah, I can see it now, I guess," Romilda's friend agreed. "He's kind of cute."

"Cute? Gina, he's not _cute_. Neville Longbottom is _cute_," Romilda disagreed fiercely. "I would never date someone _cute_."

"Alright, sorry," Gina said, giggling slightly.

"Pieter Kartrick is _mysterious_ and_—_and dark."

"Captivating," suggested Gina, ever the helpful goon.

"Yes," gasped Romilda. "_Captivating._"

For what seemed to be the hundredth time that morning, Draco found himself rolling his eyes. Soon, thankfully, the clock tower rang out the hour, alerting the student body that they had only a few minutes to get to their next class. Draco and Pansy filed out into the hallway.

"He's so gorgeous," swooned Pansy, glancing over her shoulder back into the Defense classroom. "So attractive."

"Oh, yeah, he's the cutest," Draco muttered sarcastically, earning a swat on the arm from Pansy.

"Don't poke fun at me," she said. "I can't help it if he's_—_"

_Smack_.

Someone suddenly rammed right into Pansy, sending her almost skidding through the stone corridor. Draco's arm, out of reflex, shot out to grab the swaying Pansy before she could tumble to the ground. When she had recovered from her shock, still gripping his elbow for support, she wheeled around and narrowed her bright indigo eyes at the girl that had knocked into her.

"Oi!" she shouted, her fiery spirit getting the best of her.

Draco noticed the girl as Rosemary Delmond, a constantly nervous fifth year from Ravenclaw. She was lying crumpled on the ground, her bag ripped down the middle, the contents of it scattered all over the perimeter. Her ink bottles had shattered and her hands were soaked in the black liquid, jags of broken glass jutting out from her palms. Droplets of blood oozed from her penetrated skin and onto the dungeon floor.

Immediately, it occurred to Draco that Rosemary had not intended on knocking into Pansy on purpose and that she had been a bully victim of two large Slytherins. He recognized them almost instantly as Flint Marcombe and Darius Ruben. They used to be friend with Vinccent Crabbe.

"Panse," Draco whispered, squeezing her arm and gesturing to the girl. "It was an accident."

Pansy immediately calmed down and went to the girl's aid, helping her to her feet.

"I'm sorry about them," she told the younger girl, referring to Flint and Darius. "Here, I'll help you to the Hospital Wing."

"But you'll be late," protested Rosemary, her blue eyes still wide and frightened.

Pansy chose to ignore the young girl's statement and recovered Rosemary's belongings from the ground. With a small smile over her shoulder at Draco, she and Rosemary disappeared up the stairs for the Hospital Wing. As Draco followed the rest of the students out of the dungeons and up the grand staircase, he couldn't fight the sense of deja vu that overcame him once more.

And then he realized something. His dreams from that morning_—_Neville Longbottom exploding his potion, Pansy fawning over a man, ink bottles shattering on the floor_—_were all coming true. It was the most absurd notion he'd ever considered, but his dreams really _were_ happening in his reality. It couldn't possibly be a coincidence, all of those things happening after he'd dreamed them. So, what was going on? Draco hardly dreamed as it was, and now suddenly his dreams were coming true?

"Come off it," Draco scolded himself, rolling his eyes.

He was being stupid. Of course it was all a coincidence. Dreams never came true, especially not Draco's. He was just having an off was so lost in his thoughts that he barely made it into the Transfiguration classroom before the bell began to chime throughout the castle. In the left front corner of the room sat Blaise, waving discretely for him to come sit by him. Draco hurried to his seat and slid in, casting a glance around the room.

"Where've you been?" demanded Blaise. "I was about to send out a search party."

"You were that worried about me?" Draco joked.

"'Course I was," Blaise snorted. "Now, really, what took you so long? Did you get lost?"

"After seven years of coming to this classroom? I think not," Draco replied. "Pansy and I got a little held up. Flint and Darius were bullying students again. Pansy had to take the girl to the Hospital Wing."

"Not again," grunted Blaise. "I thought they would have stopped that behavior now that the Carrow's are gone. McGonagall's not going to stand for that."

"Not to mention what Granger would do if she ever found out about it," whispered Draco.

"Speaking of Granger," Blaise said with a smirk, "how is the lovely lioness?"

"Annoying as always," Draco answered sourly.

"Well, I'm glad you and her are doing so well," Blaise said sarcastically and then pointed a few seats away from them. There sat Hermione Granger, her texts and notebooks already on her desk, her inkwell already half empty. Next to her sat Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom, who were in the middle of a serious game of quill jousting.

_Oh, good Lord, is she going to be in all my classes?_ Draco internally complained.

"Good afternoon, class," rang out a sultry, accented voice.

Draco and Blaise tore their eyes away from their irritating classmates to rest upon a beautiful but seemingly severe woman with curly dark hair and cocoa skin. Her voice was misty and sharp, and she walked in a stride brisker than a whip.

"For those of you who do not know me, or perhaps have forgotten, or did not pay attention to the feast last night, I am Professor Lavinia," the woman greeted, peering over across the room. "Might I take this moment to inform each and every one of you that this is _Advanced_ Transfiguration, so, for those of you who do not belong in this class, please leave now."

When no one moved, she raised her thin dark eyebrows and began to closely survey the room, her midnight blue robes swirling around her black boots as she clomped between the desks.

"No one?"

Again, there was nothing but silence.

"Very well, then," Lavinia said, coming to a stop in front of Ginny's desk. "Just so I can make sure every student is in a class that suits their skills, I shall begin today's lesson plan with a pop quiz."

A boy in the back of the class blurted out in outrage. Blaise and Draco exchanged glances of equal worry. Neither of them had prepared for a quiz on the first day of class. Draco hadn't skimmed over the new reading material at all over the summer break, actually. He'd been too busy focusing on more important things.

"Books off your desks," commanded Lavinia as she passed out their tests. "The quiz is fairly brief. Only thirty questions. If you read the summer reading material, you will most likely pass. If not, then it is evident you are not cut out for my class. You have until the end of the hour. After you are done with the test, please place it on my desk so that I may correct it. After I am done correcting them, you may come and check your score. Begin."

Draco glanced down at his quiz and furrowed his eyebrows. Irritated at his bad luck, Draco sighed. As he continued on with every question, the material on the quiz began to look less and less foreboding and more..._familiar_. Again, he felt overcome with a large sense of deja vu, even though he was certain he'd never taken this test. And then it occurred to him that he _had_ seen this quiz before. The very same quiz had been in his dream this morning, along with_—_

"All the answers," he whispered aloud in awe, staring down at his paper.

"How is it she already knows all the answers?" Blaise muttered quietly and Draco looked up in surprise.

He was staring, half irritated, half amused at someone across the room. Draco's eyes followed the direction Blaise was looking and instantly fell upon Hermione Granger, furiously scribbling away at her quiz. He glowered at her. Of _course_ she knew the answers. Didn't she always have the answers? She'd probably spent all summer alone, barricaded in her room with nothing to do but read her stupid books and fawn over Weasley.

Blaise sighed dramatically. "If she wasn't such a goodie two shoes," he joked, returning to his quiz, "I'd turn her in for stealing the answers."

_Stealing the answers. _

He nearly startled out of his skin, a sense of excitement bubbling up in his stomach as he stared a the paper in front of him. Could it be possible that Draco already knew the answers? Was it possible his dreams _were_ coming true or at least predicting things? He shrugged.

_Why not?_ he thought carelessly. _I don't need this class if I fail it, anyway. _

He smirked and dipped his quill in his ink.

"Number one," Draco whispered, musing. "Wonder what it could be."

_C_.

Draco smirked as he etched in the letter, laughing on the inside the whole time. By the time he was finished, he felt pretty confident that the answers he'd written on the paper were correct. If they weren't, he'd be booted to a lower class, which really wouldn't matter all that much to him anyway. It might even be easier on him, taking a class that wasn't a challenge, what with all his Head duties and other responsibilities.

"Thank you. You may take your seat," said Lavinia as he passed her his quiz.

He did as he was told and waited until Lavinia called everyone up to check their grades. The students all filed into a not so perfect line, eager to see their results.

"Mr. Longbottom," Professor Lavinia started with a long sigh, "you passed barely by the skin of your teeth. You were one point away from failing this. Please, take care to study next time and do your work, or I will personally kick you out of my class."

Neville, now flushing a dark red, spluttered out an incoherent reply before Ginny forced him away to wait as Hermione checked her score.

"Oh, whoops," she said lightly, turning to face Draco. "I accidentally grabbed yours by mistake."

She passed it over to him and waited for him to noticed his score.

_A perfect score?_ Draco thought. _But how can that be? That mean's my dreams really did__—_

"Well done," Hermione told him, clutching her own quiz so tight in her fist that he could almost hear it screeching in pain.

"You seem surprised."

"Actually," she corrected with a small frown, obviously upset about something, "you're the one that seems surprised."

And then she turned on her heel to join ger friends by the doorway. Draco couldn't help but hear their next words.

"What does Malfoy look so chipper about?" Ginny wondered as they headed back toward their seats.

Seeming to deflate even more, Hermione's eyes quickly scanned over her quiz once more. Then, she handed the paper to the redhead.

"That's why," she said simply.

Both Ginny and Neville stared at her, uncomprehending.

"Congrats, 'Mione," Ginny said slowly, still confused. "You got a great score."

"So, why do you look like you just got hit in the face with a bludger?" Neville asked.

Pointing to her paper once more, she said, "That's why. Oh, it's silly. Never mind."

"No, Hermione, something's obviously bothering you," Ginny insisted. "What's wrong?"

"Draco Malfoy," the small bookworm sighed, ripping her quiz out of Ginny's hand and flopping down in her seat. "He got the highest score in the class."

"Apart from yours that is," Neville said, smiling brightly with encouragement, trying and failing to lift the brunette's mood.

Hermione just shook her head sadly.

"No, Neville. You're wrong. He got the highest score," she said, biting her lip. "He got above me."

Her doe eyes locked with his, and even from all the way across the room he noticed their color. They were the most unique shade of brown_—_a mixture between glazed honey and maple sap. They were wide and so full of disappointment and confusion as they bore into his own eyes, as if they could read his very soul. As if she knew he had cheated and that she deserved the high score_—_not him. Hermione Granger had never evoked anything but annoyance in him_, _but shockingly, the way she stared at him actually made Draco feel something he never thought he'd feel with her.

He felt guilty.

And then, before Draco could blink, before he could breathe, before he could even respond to the situation before him with his trademark smirk, he was suddenly engulfed in blinding pain.


	7. Motions

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from the world of Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Four reviews? *frowns*. Well, at least there's that. Thank you to Hypruleepona, Alkeni, HarryPGinnyW4eva, and PoisonxHeart for reviewing the last chapter, and thank you to all my favoritists and alertists. I love you all. I apologize for the late update_—_I've been incredibly ill and very busy with school. However, I hope to punch out a few more chapters very soon, so bear with me and PLEASE REVIEW. It really helps me to know that there are people enjoying my story.

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Six<span>_

_Motions_

* * *

><p><em>I've been going through the motions, <em>

_Watching things pass me by, _

_Sleepwalking through my life._

_But you came along and shook my world up,_

_No longer scared to try, my eyes are open wide finally. _

_"Awake" —Hoobastank_

* * *

><p>"<em>Damn it!<em>"

Next to Hermione, Ginny and Neville startled and several girls near the back of the classroom gasped.

"What in the bloody hell?" wondered Ginny in a quiet voice, staring openly at Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, please," Professor Lavinia scolded, peering over her pile of paperwork. "Mind your tongue, if you will."

But the arrogant Slytherin didn't seem to be listening.

"Damn!" he cried, clutching his right hand and clawing at his fingers. "Bloody, damnable hell infested _pants_!"

Despite her ebbing concern for his sudden condition, Hermione snorted unattractively at his exclamation. When Neville quirked his eyebrow at her, she shrugged her shoulders, blushing modestly.

"You're laughing," Neville observed, confused, "at Draco Malfoy. In pain. Swearing."

There was a loud bang as Draco slammed his fist down onto the table_—_obviously trying to dissipate whatever pain was overtaking him_—_and promptly swore again. Hermione coughed to cover up another alarmed snort.

"I'm sorry," she said, muffling a laugh into her elbow and disguising it as a cough. "It's just so comical."

"I agree with you on that one, but I have to agree with Neville, too. Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?" Ginny snickered.

"It's not that I think his language is appropriate_—_believe me, it is anything but_—_but it's just the way he worded things."

"Bloody, damnable hell infested pants, you mean?" Ginny joked and both she and Neville chuckled.

The class began to buzz back to their normal chatter, ignoring Draco's futile attempts to control his evident pain, but Hermione continued to watch, her concern and curiosity returning once her amusement faded. Mere moments ago she had locked eyes with Draco, seen only a flicker of some foreign expression cross his pale features, and then suddenly buckle in pain. It was alarming to say the least and she couldn't help but inch a little closer as Blaise Zabini grasped Draco's shoulder suddenly and shook him roughly, trying to catch their conversation.

"What in Merlin's good name are you doing?" Blaise hissed at the blond.

"My right hand is stinging like the devil," Draco ground out.

"Let me see," Blaise sighed, snatching Draco's hand away from the desk. "Nothing looks wrong with it."

"Mind where you are touching," sniped Draco, hissing in pain, removing his long spidery fingers from his friend's grasp.

"Wasn't your ring green before?" asked Blaise abruptly, clutching Draco's hand.

At this, Hermione stirred, her toffee eyes darting to the elegant gold band on Draco's right ring finger. It was obviously a very precious and extremely expensive piece of jewelry and shined like a newly polished ruby in the sun washed classroom.

"What the_—_?" Draco bowed his head, inspecting his ring. Then, as if something particularly ominous had just crossed his mind, he flung his arm away from him and exclaimed, "The _ring__!_"

Horrified, Draco ripped the ring from his finger, snaring off some of his skin in his haste. His pale finger throbbed a rosy pink and he shook his hand, and instantly sighed. His facial features relaxed and he returned to his normal coloring, no longer in pain.

"You alright?" Blaise asked hesitantly.

"Fine," replied Draco, nursing his right hand with great care.

"What happened?"

"No idea," he answered sincerely. "One minute I was staring off over at Granger_—_"

"Granger, eh?" Blaise smirked, his eyes sweeping over Hermione, who quickly averted her gaze, pretending to stare at a speck on the stone ground.

"Oh, _shut up_," Draco growled, whacking the tall Italian with his good hand. "_Anyway,_ one minute I was staring at her and then the next thing I know, my hand feels like it's on fire. Actually, it felt like someone had slammed it with a ten pound hammer and then proceeded to rip my skin off of the bone and douse the remains in flesh-eating acid."

Both Hermione and Blaise wrinkled their noses in repulsion.

"You're awfully descriptive," noted Blaise, swallowing and staring at Draco's hand. "But obviously that didn't happen. So, what went wrong?"

"It's the ring," whispered Draco, his eyes crazed. "It's got powers, only they haven't presented themselves to anyone in my family since my great-great grandfather or something died. My parents told me so in the letter they wrote me."

"Alright, I get it," Blaise said, nodding. "You've finally gone mental. It's okay to admit it, mate."

"I _mean it_," Draco insisted. Hermione could tell he was growing frustrated from the rosy tint that spread over his white cheeks, the way his fists clenched, the way the bridge of his nose crinkled ever so slightly. "You even noticed it before. The ring used to be green, and when it stunned my hand, it went red!"

"Maybe it had a reaction to Granger," gasped Blaise dramatically, still unbelieving.

"Come off it, will you?" Draco snapped. "I'm being serious."

"So am I," Blaise laughed, shaking his head.

"Where's the ring?" asked Draco abruptly.

The ring, due to Draco's haste to be rid of it, had clattered over to Hermione's desk, just a few inches away from her foot. She cringed, stiffening in her bent position, and slowly bent down the rest of the way to pluck the ring from the floor. It shimmered a burning claret in her hand, burning like it had been under the scorching sun all morning.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione merged between the desks until she reached Draco and Blaise.

"Granger!" exclaimed Blaise, breaking out into a devious smirk. "It's lovely to see you."

Hermione sent him a quizzical stare before returning her gaze to Draco and holding out her hand.

"Can we help you?" Draco demanded.

"I thought you might want this back," Hermione answered, opening her hand to reveal the ring burning in her palm. "It seems quite valuable."

"It is," he stated and snatched it from her grasp, turning his back.

"You're welcome," she huffed, but he ignored her, slipping the ring back onto his finger with hesitation. Within seconds, it shimmered to a glorious emerald green. Surprised, Hermione stifled a gasp, never having seen something so beautiful.

"That's incredibly rare," Hermione remarked. "Where did you find it?"

"It's a family heirloom," Draco responded tightly, glaring at her in suspicion. "Why?"

"I've just never seen anything like it. Green and red are two entirely different color schemes, on nearly complete opposite sides of the color spectrum," Hermione rambled, staring at the stone winking on Draco's pale finger.

"Thank you for pointing that out, Granger," Draco mocked, rolling his eyes. "I would never have discovered that without your help."

Insulted, Hermione spun on her heel and returned to her seat, just as Professor Lavinia called the class to order.

"What was that all about?" wondered Ginny in a whisper, leaning over to Hermione.

"What?"

"Malfoy."

"Oh," Hermione sighed, glancing at the blond Slytherin. "Nothing. He's just being an immature little boy, like always."

"Good to know," Ginny muttered, deflated from Hermione's unwillingness to gossip.

Hermione, still irritated, shifted her attention to the Italian professor up front and tried to focus on what she was saying.

"Today I will be assigning your first term project," said Lavinia. "I do this for the sole purpose of finding where you stand skill wise in this class. It will be your duty to find an adequate partner on your own and discuss what you would wish to do for your project." Ginny and Hermione instantly locked eyes, forming knowing smiles. "You are free to choose what you will do for your project since this is an advanced class and I regard your ability to think for yourself. You may spend the rest of the period with your partner discussing."

"'Mione, would you like to be my partner?" asked Neville once the class began to break up.

Guiltily, Hermione worried her bottom lip and glanced at Ginny.

"I would love to, Neville, really, but Ginny and I are already partners, I'm afraid."

A frown immediately graced his features and he nodded. "I understand. I probably wouldn't be able to match up to your potential."

"No, Neville, that's not_—_"

"Neville," Ginny intercepted, catching the awkwardly handsome boy by the elbow. "I've found you the perfect companion for the project."

The saucy redhead pointed over to the corner of the classroom where Hannah Abbott was standing alone, looking very lost, twirling a strand of corn silk hair around her index finger nervously. Upon seeing who Ginny proposed he partner with, his skin pallor went several shades darker.

"Go on," Ginny prodded, encouraging him. "The worst she can do is say no, and since she's standing there all alone without a partner, my guess is she'll say yes."

Straightening his shoulders, Neville set his jaw and nodded before determinedly walking over to Hannah and proposing they partner together. Hannah seemed very relieved that Neville had asked her, going far enough to give his hand a little squeeze after they had sat down in the last row of desks. On the opposite side of the room, Draco and Blaise were already deep in conversation, undoubtedly partners.

"Any ideas on what we should do for our project?" wondered Ginny, tapping her chin.

"I've got a few," Hermione admitted, "but I think there's one in particular that I would like to try."

"And what's that?" asked Ginny curiously.

"Well, you remember that story that Slughorn told Harry back in his sixth year?"

Ginny nodded. "About Harry's mum and the fish?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "If I remember correctly, Lily was very talented in transfiguration and she was able to transfigure a lily petal into a goldfish."

"But that's extremely difficult magic," Ginny protested. "How are we going to be able to do as she did?"

"Well, we certainly aren't going to _copy_ her," Hermione explained. "We'll personalize it, that way it will have a better chance of working since it will be something we hold dear."

"So, what should we do? Our favorite flower?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "What is your favorite?"

"Purple orchids," Ginny sighed. "They are glorious. And you?"

"I'm quite fond of white roses, myself," she admitted."Especially white, although yellow is nice."

"_White_? Why white?"

"I happen to like the color white, thank you," she laughed, nudging her friend playfully.

"Alright," Ginny chuckled. "Roses and orchids, it is."

Together, they discussed their project for the next ten minutes and then agreed to meet in the library after classes to get a head start. Thankfully, the bell soon rang and the class piled out, more than happy to leave behind the severe Professor Lavinia. Once they were safely out of earshot, Ginny declared her distaste for the woman.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss McGonagall."

"Why?"perked Neville, who seemed to be glowing with pride in himself.

"I don't like this Lavinia woman," she announced.

"She's very pretty."

"Neville!" Ginny scolded, smacking his arm. "I would have expected far more from you. I swear you boys only think with one thing when an attractive woman is around."

"That's hardly fair," argued Neville.

"Really?" Ginny challenged, gesturing toward Hannah Abbott as she danced past. Neville's cheeks flooded red again.

"You know who she reminds me of?" Hermione said abruptly.

"Hm?"

"A female version of Snape," she said and Ginny gawked at her.

"I was thinking the same thing," Neville agreed. "Except she's a far more pretty version of Snape."

"Neville, you are not helping," Ginny growled.

As the lot of them walked toward lunch, they began to discuss Hannah. It was so unbelievably obvious how Neville felt about her; Hermione found it enduring.

"I still can't believe McGonagall seated us by the snakes," Ginny commented as she slid onto the wooden bench of their lunch table. Directly behind them sat Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and the small honey haired girl she'd met on the train_—_Astoria, was it?

Apparently the first day had caused Hermione to work up quite an appetite, for she was starving by the time their mid-day meal appeared on the serving plates. As she poured a large spoonful of tomato soup into her bowl, she couldn't help overhearing the conversation taking place between the Slytherins behind her.

"I can't believe you got a perfect score," Pansy complained.

"Well, I for one am very proud of him," Astoria piped. "And I'm sure the class isn't _that_ bad."

"Really, it's just the professor. The woman is a complete nightmare," Blaise said, "although she is quite attractive, so I suppose I'll let her off the hook."

"You're disgusting," Pansy said. "I had her first block. She's a nightmare of a teacher. I thought McGonagall was tough, but she's nothing like this woman. I don't know why I took the class. I almost failed the assessment test today."

"I just barely scraped by, myself," Blaise admitted.

"Did you hear about that Longbottom bloke?" spoke Pansy. "Apparently he's interning for Professor Sprout in Herbology and taking a few classes on the side that he failed last year."

_He failed them because half his time spent at the school last year was spent in confinement or the dungeons, being tortured because he actually stuck up for what he knew was right,_ Hermione wanted to add, but pursed her lips.

"You mean I've got to endure a two-block period of Herbology with Sprout _and_ Longbottom?" agonized Draco. "This year just keeps getting better."

"You're awfully quiet," Ginny noticed, tearing Hermione away for the conversation behind her. "Want to talk?"

"About what?"

"Well, how about Malfoy?" Ginny suggested. "How have you two been getting along?"

"Ginny, it's been one day," she reminded her."He really hasn't said much to me. Unless I initiate the conversation; that's when he has an attitude."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"It's not really like Malfoy," Hermione said. "He usually finds someway to insult me on his own, but now he doesn't do that unless I talk to him first."

"Hermione, he's not the same bloke anymore, so stop searching for him," Neville butted in. "He's not there anymore."

Just then, the clock tower chimed, preventing me from coming up with something to say to that.

"I've got Herbology," Neville said and patted Hermione on the shoulder. "I'm not trying to pick on you, 'Mione. It's just that he's not the same person as he once was; none of us are. And it's not fair for you to keep thinking he is."

Without another word, Neville rose from his seat and followed a stretch of students out of the Great Hall. Reluctantly, she skimmed over her schedule and noticed that she and Ginny had Charms together next. Happy to at least be having another class with her, they trampled through the crowd of students and through an open courtyard directly across from the Charms classroom. When they entered, Hermione's eyes almost instantaneously locked with the uniquely beautiful indigo orbs of Pansy Parkinson. She resisted the sudden and seemingly overpowering urge to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the girl across the classroom, the one who had been the female source of bullying for Hermione over the years, and sat down in a seat by the window, Ginny at her side.

On Pansy's right sat Astoria, the nicest Slytherin Hermione had ever met. When her gooseberry eyes met Hermione's, she lit up and smiled in a friendly manner. Unable to stop the contagious smile from spreading across her face, Hermione returned her wave. Pansy, however, seemed very annoyed by this but said nothing, much to Hermione's surprise.

_Remember,_ she reminded herself inwardly, _they've changed. They aren't the people you grew up with anymore. _

With that in mind, she shifted her gaze from the dark haired girl on the opposite side of the classroom and toward the boy sitting on her left. Theodore Nott, absorbed in his textbook, dark hair hanging over his earthy brown-green eyes, was a quiet, tall young man who preferred to keep out of sight rather than join in with the rest of the Slytherin's antics, and kept out of everyone's way. He was also dating Pansy Parkinson, and both were such complete opposites it seemed hard to wrap Hermione's head around on how they were still together.

"Have you noticed that Parkinson seems less malicious this year?" whispered Ginny, inspecting her nails.

"I don't pay her much attention, actually."

"Ever since she started dating that Nott bloke last year, she's been less prissy about everything."

"Well, good for her," Hermione said and as much as she'd disliked her over the years, it was nice to see that even _she_ could find someone. "I'm glad she's found someone that brings out the best in her."

"As hard as that is," snorted Ginny.

The rest of the period went rather fast and soon Hermione was headed to her next class_—_History of Magic, which was located in one of the older, cramped classrooms, several floors up from the Charms classroom, with windows that overlooked the grounds and were almost always open due to the stuffiness of the old classroom. Sadly, Ginny did not have the last period with her; she had Muggle Studies with the new teacher, Professor Greta Aloysius. After waving off her friend, Hermione continued her trek through the castle.

Once she entered the History of Magic classroom, she couldn't help but notice the classroom had kept its highly overpowering scent of sandalwood and chalk dust, flooding her mind with memories of previous years. She took a seat by the window and searched the grounds, spotting Hagrid in his pumpkin patch with Fang. The Forbidden Forest looked half as foreboding to her in the daylight and she let her eyes wander through the shadowy thicket of trees for several seconds before moving on, a chill tingling on her spine like every time she spotted the dangerous forest. Finally, her eyes rested on the Herbology greenhouse, which was almost completely concealed by the castle walls, giving her only a fragmented view of the sturdy greenhouse.

_Good luck, Neville,_ she thought, remembering how Draco and Blaise had double Herbology with him for the last two periods of the day. Soon, the bell rang and Professor Binns bloated out a seating chart. She was delighted when she didn't have to move seats, but then something very unexpected happened which brought her joy down significantly. To her horrified astonishment, the seat directly left to her turned out to belong to Pansy Parkinson. The dark haired girl sat down next to her with gritted teeth and stiff posture, avoiding her eyes.

Binns then began to drone on about his lesson plans for the day in his usual monotonous, slow paced, lethargic voice. When he finally got through his lesson plans, it was nearly time for class to be over and half the students were asleep. Beside Hermione, Pansy was carving a star into the wood of the ancient desk, hardly concentrating on anything Binns was saying, but what he had to say next sparked her attention.

"_Partners?_" Pansy repeated, aghast. "Since when do we do projects in this bloody class?"

Hermione sent her a withering glare, annoyed.

"We always have a first semester and second semester project in this class," she whispered to the exotic Slytherin.

Instead of coming up with a biting remark like Hermione expected her to do, she groaned and shook her mane of glossy dark maple-wood hair into her eyes. Binns began to list off who was partnering with who and just her luck she got partnered with_—_

"Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger."

The two girls, both former enemies, turned toward each other in a tense moment of disdain. And then the bell rang, releasing the students from their classes. Hermione let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and turned to further face Pansy.

"So, partner," Pansy greeted tersely, "what are we going to do?"

"Well, I'm actually not sure," Hermione stated truthfully. "I hadn't thought about it."

"I find that odd," Pansy commented.

"So do I."

After several silent minutes, Pansy stood up.

"Well, it's been grand, but I've actually got a life to get back to, so unless you've got something useful to say, I'll see you around."

Hermione stood up, too, catching the Slytherin girl's arm and yanking her back.

"Parkinson," she snapped, "I'm not in the mood to play games and I'm most certainly not going to do everything by myself."

"That won't be a problem, considering I'm not the kind of person who lets biased know-it-all's like you take away all my glory," Pansy replied with snaring ease. "I've got a brain, too, Granger."

Hermione took a deep breath.

_Remember, Hermione, she's not the same person. _

"Look, we're never going to get anywhere if we just argue the whole time," Pansy snapped, checking her watch, "and I have places to be. So, since we're stuck doing this together, we might as well try and make it work for the pair of us."

"Right," Hermione agreed reluctantly.

"We both know we don't like the other and we both know that we don't want to do this, but we've got no choice," Pansy growled, glaring at her. "So, I suggest we meet up sometime within the next few weeks and gather some ideas. Fair?"

"Quite."

"And we've got till the end of first semester to complete it, so no pressure."

"That doesn't mean you can slack off."

"Wasn't planning on it, worm."

"Good."

"Fine."

And the two of them, arms crossed and eyes tight with agitation, went their separate ways. Stomping down the stairs in irritation, she nearly smacked right into Ginny.

"Oi! Watch where you're going_—_Hermione?"

"Hi, Gin," Hermione sighed.

"I was just going to the library to meet you."

"As was I."

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, spotting the agitated look on Hermione's face.

Hermione checked behind her, noticing Pansy a few steps behind with Theodore Nott, whispering bitingly in his ear and pointing at her, obviously telling him all about the unfairness of Binns's partnering.

"I'll tell you all about it when we get to the library," Hermione answered and together the two girls set off to Hermione's one place of solace.


	8. Resistance

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Thank you for all who reviewed; it made me so happy to hear from you! All the typos in the first chapter I hope are fixed, but point any out to me if you find more. Thanks! Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Seven <span>_

_Resistance_

* * *

><p><em>This love this hate is burning me away<br>These lies are leading me astray  
>its too much for me to stay<br>I don't wanna live this destiny  
>it goes on endlessly<em>

_"This Love, This Hate"_—_Hollywood Undead_

* * *

><p>Hermione lounged by an open window in the library, scanning over notes and mulling over ideas on how to bring the houses closer together. It had been roughly a week since the first day of term and already she was swamped with things to do. Luckily, Draco had agreed on letting Hermione be in charge of only the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor prefects while he took over the Slytherin and Ravenclaws, that way it would give them both less to do. Draco was supposed to meet her in the library at nine for curfew patrol; until then he would remain with his prefects in the Great Hall, discussing their own matters.<p>

"A dance," gasped Hannah Abbott, showing her brilliant grin as she shared her epiphany.

Hermione, who had been inspecting her watch, blinked and sent the dutiful seventh year a quizzical stare. Hermione wasn't the only one taken aback by the suggestion—both Gryffindor prefects were staring at Hannah, as well as her Hufflepuff counterpart and long-time friend, Ernie Macmillan.

"Pardon?" Hermione choked.

Hannah blushed under everyone's gaze. "I feel that we should host a dance."

"Are you kidding?" Romilda Vane scoffed.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. Dennis Creevy, now a fifth year with wiry muscles and messy brown hair, elbowed Romilda roughly.

"Remember, Romilda, our discussion?" Hermione reminded her keenly. "Opinions are always welcome and if one disagrees they may bring up their opinions and points in a civilized manner."

Romilda, though she basked in attention, had never been one too fond of being publicly scolded and did not take well to Hermione's continuous lectures on her poor behavior. It still remained a mystery to Hermione as to why Romilda Vane had been offered a prefect badge, but who was she to judge? So far, the girl's saucy attitude was the only thing she had to take Romilda aside about; otherwise, she really was a good help to the school community.

"I just thought it might be a good idea," Hannah stated softly, sinking in her chair.

"Well, I for one think it's a brilliant idea," Dennis said. "A dance is something everyone could enjoy. And those who don't wish to go to it don't have to."

"Fair point," Hermione acknowledged, scribbling the idea into her notes.

"Besides, I thought you of all people would be excited about a dance, Romilda," Dennis commented, turning to the curly haired girl.

"I just think it would show that we're trying too hard. I don't think it would go over that well," Romilda snapped, annoyed that everyone seemed to be jumping at her for her disdain. "Especially with all that's happened recently. I mean, are you _asking _for problems?"

"Especially after all that's happened? You mean the war?" Ernie Macmillan questioned sardonically. "I think it's a perfect idea to have a dance, and not because I'm fond of them but because I believe it's just what Hogwarts needs to pull the students out of the war and put their minds on something happy for once. That's what we all need—a little dose of innocent happiness. A night where we can put all of our qualms aside and have some fun."

"Like the Yule Ball," Hannah piped in, encouraged by her best friend. "That was a great way to celebrate each other, to take our minds off of the Triwizard Tournament. And, of course, we would encourage everyone to bring a date that is of a different house."

"Well, it is a good idea, but do you think we can pull it off?" Hermione asked seriously, glancing around the table.

"That's what I'm worried about," Romilda said. "I don't know if we have the patience and talent to put on a dance."

"Putting on a dance is not that hard," Ernie argued.

"Um, yes, it is," Romilda retorted. "It costs money, time, and we're going to need a lot of help from the student body."

"Not to mention if we're seriously considering doing this, we're going to need to set up an event slot in the school calendar, come up with the theme of the dance, and run it by McGonagall as soon as possible," Hermione agreed.

"See?" Romilda huffed.

They all sighed. Hermione checked her wrist watch. It was close to nine o'clock.

"Do you realize who we have as Head Girl and Boy?" Ernie remarked. "We have Hermione Granger, the genius of the school. She's very good at presenting points and McGonagall loves her. Then, on the other end, we have Draco Malfoy, who is incredibly rich and popular. He not only could help us with finances, but he could rope in the school population, especially the Slytherins. Plus, his mother hosts billions of high-end parties—she's famous for them."

"And we've got you, Romilda," Hannah added kindly.

"Me?" Romilda spluttered. "What about me?"

"You have a rather alarming way with the student body," Hannah stated. "Plus, you are extremely talented and creative. You could give us some very good ideas on decorations and—"

"But that's not the point," Romilda sighed, frustrated and flattered all at the same time. "My point is that the students are going to be expecting something like the Yule Ball because it is the only dance Hogwarts has ever known and it was extravagant and wonderful, am I right?"

Hermione nodded, remembering the formal occasion.

"She's right," Hermione agreed. "They're going to be expecting something better than the Yule Ball."

"Oh, come on," Ernie huffed. "Do you really think we can't pull that off? Remember who we have on our team. Plus, Hannah, Hermione, Draco, Michael Corner, and I attended the Yule Ball. We all know what we're dealing with. We can use that to our advantage."

"Okay, fine, just don't blame me when this whole thing backfires," Romilda caved, folding her arms.

Hermione checked her watch again. "Well, we've got a few more minutes. What are some ideas for the theme of the dance we want to have? And when is the best time to host it?"

"December," Hannah suggested. "Just like the Yule Ball. It'll be a romantic time to host a ball, too."

"But I don't think we should necessarily do a winter dance. It'll look like we're just trying to do another Yule Ball," Romilda stated.

"Well, it really is the perfect time for a dance, since it is winter and no one hardly has anything to do but homework in December anyway. If we did do it in December, though, I think we should do something Hogwarts won't be expecting. Throw them a curve ball," Dennis said.

"Valid point. Any ideas?" Hermione asked.

They were all silent for quite some time. Finally, Hannah Abbott cleared her throat.

"A masquerade," she breathed steadily. "I think we should do a masquerade."

Hermione mulled over the idea, twirling it about in her brain.

"That's unique, Abbott," Romilda said, shocked. "I wasn't expecting that from you. I hadn't even thought of it."

"Well, not only is it something the school wouldn't expect, but I think it would get the school really excited about the dance, plus we can go all out with the decorations and make it really extravagant and fancy. It could be really nice. And the masks would provide a sense of unity, bring the entire school together. How can you hate someone if you can't see who they are?"

"You don't think it's a little cliche?" Hermione fretted.

"I think it is fascinating," Ernie voiced. "We should do it."

"All in favor?" Hermione declared and they all raised their hands. "Splendid. I'll discuss it with Draco and make sure he passes it along to the others and we'll see if they have any added ideas. Then, we'll take another vote and Draco and I will talk to McGonagall. We should have it all sorted out by the end of the month."

The prefects were all abuzz in excitement when Ginny raced through the library doors, her claret hair windblown and her cheeks rosy from exertion. She greeted Dennis warmly with a tight squeezed hug, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Thanks for coming to tryouts, Den," Ginny breathed.

"I wish I could have stayed longer, but I had my prefect meeting," Dennis said and Ginny nodded, waving him off.

"It doesn't matter; I got to see how you were on the pitch and that's all I needed. You didn't need to stay for the whole thing, believe me."

He seemed relieved to hear this and after giving Ginny another friendly hug, he made his way out the library doors after the rest of the prefects. Romilda Vane even brushed against Ginny on her way out the library, but Ginny was so elated from her tryouts that she barely noticed. Romilda, miffed at Ginny for not picking a bone with her, tore out of the library with a snotty huff.

"I take it tryouts went well?" Hermione assumed, embracing her friend.

"Oh, it was marvelous," Ginny sighed happily, stooping to help Hermione sort her notes. "It felt so good to be back on that Quidditch pitch. And I've already picked out my players, for the most part."

"Do I get to know now or do I have to wait like all the others for the list on the notice board?" Hermione laughed.

"Well, I _suppose_ I could slip you the word, but only if you swear to Godric that you won't tell," Ginny smirked.

"I won't breathe a word, I promise," she chuckled. "Now tell me."

"Well, only two people tried out for Seeker along with me and they weren't very good, so I think the team would be alright if I assumed the role of Seeker, don't you? I'll discuss it with the team once they've assembled. Dennis, who tried out for Seeker, was okay, but he also tried out for Chaser, and he's absolutely brilliant, so I chose him as Chaser. The two other Chasers are going to be Fay Dunbar and Demelza Robins, who I played with in my fifth year. She's great at dodging bludgers. And I'm going to keep Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peaks as the two Beaters, because they're absolutely wicked good and I need them on my team."

"You never mentioned who you're planning on being Keeper," Hermione noted.

Ginny groaned. "Oh, right. I knew I'd have to confront that one day."

"Were the tryouts for Keeper that bad?"

"There was only one ruddy candidate for Keeper." Ginny scowled.

"Oh, no. Don't tell me you picked him."

"I had to. He's chauvinistic and disgusting, but he's really good at what he does. And he was the only one who tried out so I can't even use that as an excuse to turn him down."

"But Cormac McLaggen is such a—"

"Pig-brained, two-faced pile of dragon dung?" Ginny offered and they burst out laughing despite themselves.

"Creative, Gin," Hermione snickered. "You've got it all figured out, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Gryffindor's first game is coming up and I have to set up my team as fast as I can."

"I heard the first match of the year is tomorrow," Hermione noted and Ginny nodded.

"Ravenclaw versus Slytherin. And with the team Slytherin is running with, I have to make sure my team is more than great."

"Don't stress," Hermione comforted, squeezing her arm. "You'll be a brilliant captain. Once Slytherin plays against Gryffindor, Blaise Zabini won't know what hit him."

"Hopefully a bludger," Ginny grumbled, sighing. "So, how is my favorite Head Girl?"

"I'm hanging in there," Hermione exhaled. "It's been a crazy couple of days. I've had some trouble with a few Slytherin students—they don't seem to take anything I say seriously. And it doesn't help that Draco's been avoiding me all week."

"Well, he did let you have the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor prefects so that he could handle the Slytherins, right?" Ginny amended. "He's probably just busy like you."

"Yes, but it is a partnership and despite how much I'd like to do everything myself, I simply can't. And it is rather hard to communicate with someone who keeps making himself scarce."

"Well, isn't that a good thing with Malfoy?"

"Normally, yes. But not right now." Hermione sighed and checked her watch. It was now five past nine. "It's after curfew. You should head back to the tower."

Ginny nodded and gave her a tight squeeze before heading toward the library doors. Just then, Draco Malfoy threw open the doors and pranced in, looking tired and aggravated.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Little Red?" he drawled as Ginny flounced past him.

"Oh, how nice. I never knew you were such the poet, Malfoy," Ginny teased, still in a good mood, and disappeared out the doors.

Draco quirked an eyebrow at the departing redhead and made his way to Hermione's table.

"You're late," she said by way of greeting.

He shrugged, barely acknowledging her.

_Does he take nothing seriously?_ Hermione thought in irritation. She rubbed her temples again, reminding herself that Draco was not the enemy. She was exhausted and overworked, but it was nothing she couldn't handle.

"Very well, let's not waste anymore time, shall we?" she suggested, crossing past him.

He followed her in silence, twirling his wand between his long pale fingers in such nonchalance it made Hermione furious. Did he not realize how upset she was that he had been practically ignoring her all week? How did he expect them to ever get anything done together as a team? To her displeasure, the more Hermione tried to remain civil toward the blond Slytherin, the more he grated on her strained nerves.

"Do you take pleasure in driving me mad?" Hermione said after several minutes of fuming silently and no reaction from the young man beside her.

He glanced up in surprise, as if just barely realizing she was standing there.

"Yes," he replied in a ridiculously calm fashion. He didn't even shed his usual smirk; he stared at her as if she were a squashed bug on one of his textbooks—annoying, gross, and in his way.

"Is that why you've been ignoring me all week?" Hermione demanded.

"I've hardly been ignoring you, Granger," he replied. "Don't be dramatic." Hermione clenched her fists.

"I don't understand how you think that—"

"Granger, I really don't care if you don't understand me. In fact, it gives me great satisfaction."

"Well, we are working in a partnership and I hardly think that this is an efficient way of getting things done!" Hermione hissed, aware of how her harsh tone bounced eerily off the stone walls of the castle. "You can't just go off and do your own thing, Draco. We need to consult each other and have meetings—"

"Granger!" Draco snapped suddenly, spinning round to face her. His features appeared—if it were even possible—more exhausted than hers. She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, forcing herself to remain calm. He peered down at her with brazen storm colored eyes. "I am doing the best that I can, don't you understand that? You wanted us not to argue and fight all the time—you said _that_ would help us do our duties—so that is what I am doing. The only possible way imaginable for us not to bite each other's heads off is to place distance between us. Why is that now a problem, too?"

"Oh, really, Draco, you are being so absurd," Hermione growled. "Being civilized does not mean that we have to ignore each other! It means we control our tempers, bite our tongues, keep our opinions to ourselves, and do our jobs fast so that we can both go back to our individual lives."

"Keeping our temper controlled, eh, Granger?" Draco hinted, pointing out her own hypocrisy.

She had to remind herself to breathe. She promptly decided that he was not worth her time and they weren't fixing the problem by talking, so why bother anymore? Thirty minutes later, she had managed to calm down remarkably, though they still walked together in silence.

"It's half past," Draco reminded her, checking his watch.

"Okay, well, I'll meet up with you again at ten at our usual spot by the Grand Staircase."

"What's your route tonight?" he wondered, checking his own list. "My meeting ended early so I already checked the towers and then I have the outside grounds."

"East perimeter?"

He nodded, checking his list again. Hermione, of course, already had her list memorized.

"I have the dungeons and the outside perimeter, too," she answered.

"Wait, you have the dungeons tonight?" Draco asked, coming to an abrupt halt.

Hermione, surprised by his alarmed tone, and finding it odd, turned about.

"Yes?"

"But I told McGonagall that had to be my duty."

For some reason this upset Hermione.

"Our duties are supposed to be equally divided," she stated blandly. "We aren't allowed to favorite one group or area of the castle under any circumstances. We are neutral to all parties now."

"Oh, don't go all schoolmarm on me, Granger," he quipped, waving her off. "I understand our rules, but I specifically asked McGonagall and I gave her my reasons. She told me she'd allow it."

"She did?" Again, this bothered Hermione. How come Draco got to choose where he did his rounds? "Why?"

"I gave her my reasons."

"How very cryptic of you."

"How about you go ahead and start on the grounds and I'll do a quick sweep of the dungeons?"

Hermione scoffed, not in the mood for games. She put her foot down.

"Absolutely not. Follow your own route. I have mine, you have yours. Stop wasting time."

She set off toward the dungeons in a fury, her curly tresses whisking out behind her as she breezed down the stone steps of the torch lit dungeon. She heard hurried footfalls behind her and whisked around suddenly.

"What do you think you're doing?" she sighed, feeling lightheaded and tired. "Just leave me in peace, please."

She had expected him to reply with some snide comment about how indecisive she was—one minute scolding him for not being around or talking to her like he should and then the next telling him to go away and leave her be—but he responded quite in the opposite.

"Granger, I don't think you understand what you're getting yourself into. It's dangerous down there."

"Oh, thank you so much for your sincere concern," she said sarcastically, turning around. "But I can handle myself, thank you."

"I highly doubt that."

Angered, Hermione flew around and stomped toward him. Surprised, he stumbled up a few steps. Normally, Hermione would have just let things be and ignored him as usual, but he'd hit a nerve. She _could_ handle herself. How dare he accuse her of being weak and simple. He had _no idea_ what she'd faced.

"You're one to talk," she told him darkly. She knew immediately by the scowl on his face that she too had hit a nerve. She descended the rest of the stairs, not even bothering to check if he was coming with her.

When she entered the dungeons, the temperature level dropped about fifteen degrees, raising the hairs on her arms. She was breathing heavily, still furious from her encounter with the Head Boy. She was so caught up in her own emotions she didn't even notice the ring of Slytherin bodies slowly forming around her in the shadows.

"Seems we've caught a little fly in our trap," came an unpleasant voice.

Caught off guard, Hermione spun around, coming face to face with Ivan Rosier. Rosier stood about two heads higher than Hermione, had a thick neck, and had pythons for muscles. He was about the equivalent in size to Gregory Goyle, who stood next to him, his lip twitching. Rosier was known all throughout Hogwarts as a brutal, quick tempered beast who normally stayed in the shadows but was easy to set off. He'd nearly been expelled for slamming his elbow purposefully into fellow Slytherin Zelda Zimmer's face about fifteen times because he'd lost to her in one round of Wizard's Chess. She'd never returned to Hogwarts and was currently studying under the careful eye of Madame Maxime at Beauxbatons.

Unflinching, Hermione took a step back, carefully taking in as many faces as she could in case she needed to report any of them should something happen to her. Among them she noticed Geneva Jugson, a bird-like seventh year with raven colored hair and pasty skin; Millicent Bulstrode, who was currently dating Ivan Rosier; and Lawrence Avery, the thin but very muscular best friend of Ivan Rosier and Gregory Goyle.

_I should have brought Malfoy with me,_ she thought regretfully and even though the thought annoyed her, she knew it was true. She could never stand a chance against them.

"Oh, look who it is," Geneva cawed. "If it isn't Potter's little pretty princess."

"Are you lost, Mudblood?" Rosier snarled.

"I'm sure we could show you the way out if you are," Avery snickered, stepping toward her and circling her. "Or I might just keep you around a little while, get you a little more lost somewhere else."

Several onlooking Slytherins chuckled from the side lines. Hermione, repulsed, stepped away from Avery, tripping right into Millicent Bullstrode. Millicent shoved her back into the fray and Hermione smashed into Avery again. Sickeningly delighted, Avery wrapped his rippling arms around her neck, clutching her ponytail and yanking her head back so that her neck was exposed and vulnerable. A high pitched whine erupted from her throat and she jammed her eyes closed, losing all the fight that had previously been inside her.

_"Scream for me, Mudblood."_

"No, stop—" She was roughly choked, her feet rising from the floor and dangling above the stone.

_"Let's see what other taints you have on you."_

"L—Let me g—go," Hermione gasped.

"What a baby," cackled Millicent from the distance.

Hermione could feel her heart beating in her head, thumping and pounding like she was being torn apart from the inside out. Blood was singing in her ears, making it hard to concentrate. She was losing feeling in her fingertips.

"Please—"

"Oh, _please_. You hear that? She's _begging_ us. How pathetic."

_Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. I'm pathetic._

_"Your pathetic playmates aren't here to rescue you this time, Mudblood. You are mine. Mine!"_

Hermione howled, shaking her head furiously, choking.

_"Oh, my pitiful little mudblood. Do you really think you are strong? You are weak, Mudblood. You are going to die a shriveled up skeleton in a pool of your own hideously diseased blood. No one is coming for you."_

"Where are your precious friends now, Mudblood?" taunted Avery bitingly in her ear.

_I am Hermione Jean Granger. I am a Gryffindor. I am brave. I _am_ strong. I mean something to this damn world and I'm not ending my life without a fight. _

"Let her go."

There was a pregnant pause as everyone turned to stare at the newcomer. Draco Malfoy stood on the bottom stair with his wand withdrawn and pointed at Avery.

"Now, now, Drakey-poo," Avery cooed tauntingly, tightening his arm around Hermione's slim neck. "We wouldn't want things to get messy. Why don't you put that down and be a good boy?"

"I said release her," Draco repeated. Avery, though he did it slowly, finally released her and she darted away from the crowd and toward Draco. He grabbed her arm and pushed her behind him almost immediately, lowering his wand.

The hostility in the dungeon was boiling. It made sense to Hermione why the Slytherins would hold so much hatred for Malfoy now, but she never imagined it would be this bad.

"Look at you. Defending a mudblood," hissed Avery and spat at Draco, leaving a tiny spittle on his porcelain cheek. "You're disgusting."

Draco's arm twitched and began to rise, the hand clutching his wand shaking ever so slightly. Hermione, knowing his temper and his intentions quickly clutched his arm.

"Don't," she scolded quietly, "you'll only cause more problems. Let's just go."

For a split second his eyes flashed horribly at her, but then something seemed to overcome him and he nodded, knowing she was right, and his hand dropped to his side again.

"Obeying orders from mudbloods now, Malfoy?" taunted Rosier.

"Blood traitor," hissed another Slytherin.

"Just like a Weasley, he is," another jabbed.

"You have no power over us," Geneva Jugson laughed.

"Actually, he does," Hermione spoke up, stepping forward, "considering he is Head Boy."

"Ooo, got your little mud-veined girlfriend fighting your battles for you now?" Rosier guffawed, creating a loud uproar of laughter and shrieking from the surrounding Slytherins.

"I'm not his girlfriend," Hermione snarled.

"Clearly," Rosier whispered bitingly. "Who would want to date you?"

Draco, though he shook by her side, remained stone faced and silent.

"What, are you too scared to stick up for yourself now?" taunted Avery. "Afraid your dear little traitorous coward of a father is going to go to Azkaban if you get in trouble?"

Draco clenched his fists. Hermione let out a deep breath, both trying to calm herself and Draco as well. But Draco didn't seem to be breathing.

"Pardoned by the minister himself. On _probation_. You're all pathetic, turning your back on the Dark Lord like you did."

"Voldemort is dead, need I remind you," Draco stated bitterly, his eyes slicing into each and every one of them.

There was a gasp from inside the crowd and several hisses.

"How_ dare_ you use his name so disrespectfully," Millicent spat. "After all he did for you."

"He did nothing for me but make my life a living pillar of hell," Draco vociferated boldly, glaring at the men and women before him. "And you find _me_ pathetic for wanting to move on with my life when you stand here, proud of the people you've hurt, killed, and destroyed."

"Proud indeed," Geneva Jugson stated. "Our revenge is not over. Soon, you'll all be sorry and you can give thanks to your little bitch for it all, Malfoy."

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Let's go, Draco," Hermione insisted, turning her back on the crowd.

"You wouldn't want something to happen again would you, Mudblood? Or should I even remind you of this summer?"

Her blood blared inside of her, steaming hot, and she whirled around, taking several heated steps forward until she was face to face with Geneva Jugson.

"Be quiet."

"Oh, Mudblood has some backbone," Jugson giggled, though her black eyes showed a twinge of fear. "What are you going to do, take off points?"

"Fifty to be exact, for obstructing curfew and refusing to obey Head orders," Hermione stated, and quieter so that no one but Jugson could hear, she snarled in her ear, "And if you _ever_ threaten me again or mention my past, I _will_ make sure you never see the light of day again. I'm sure the Minister of Magic would like to know your input for the deeds your pathetic louse of a father did."

"You bitch! You keep my father out of this!"

"Ah, testy. Touched a sore spot, did I?" Hermione delighted, her tone acidic.

"You better watch your back, Mudblood," Jugson grunted, fear now evident in her coal eyes. "You and your little pals are going to pay for what you did."

"Remove your wand from my face or your points will drop significantly."

"Make me," she challenged.

"Oh, you want me to make you?" Hermione cackled, glaring and stepping forward so that their noses were almost touching. She was overcome, shaking, on edge, about to break. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Geneva, how about that? I know much more than you might think regarding your father. Like how he is awaiting parole in Azkaban because I testified against him."

The entire dungeon had hushed to morgue silent, listening to Hermione strike fear into the heart of Geneva Jugson. Beside her, Draco's eyebrows had sewn together in confusion and shock.

"I know that he has a good chance of being released due to some significant fundings from your family and friends, but let me remind you that I have extreme power in the Ministry these days and you no longer do, and if I get my way I'll see every last one of you, and that includes your father, rotting away in the highest security points in Azkaban prison. Oh, yes, I know a lot about you and your wasted excuse of a father, dear Geneva."

"Shut your mouth," the black haired girl spluttered.

"I know that you'll be at his hearing next month, pleading for his innocence and mercy. So, hear this,_ Jugson_, if you threaten my life or anyone close to me_ ever_ again, I will personally make sure that a large dose of veritaserum just happens to slip into your pumpkin juice that morning. What a nice surprise that would be to dear old Daddykins when his own daughter testifies against him, reveals the truth of what a scumbag he really is to the whole nation."

Geneva Jugson's pasty skin dropped several shades paler and she began to shake so furiously that Avery had to take her away. Suddenly, before Hermione could even bask in her own threat, Draco yanked her arm.

"Granger, _move,_" he snarled and practically dragged her out of the dungeons like a bat out of hell.

"See you around, Draco," Rosier called after him. "Give your dear old mummy kisses from us!"

Draco's grip tightened around her arm, and seething, he dragged Hermione out of the castle and into the brisk September night. Hermione wrenched her hand out of Draco's grasp and took several steps away from him.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Draco bellowed, closing the distance between them so quickly she thought he'd teleported. She instinctively retreated. "Are you absolutely _mad_? What the hell were you thinking? There was a _reason_ I asked McGonagall for the dungeon duty."

"What are you talking about?"

"God, you are infuriating!" he screeched, grabbing her tightly by the shoulder and giving her a rough shake. "Don't you know what you've gotten yourself into, you damnable girl? They all hate you. They wish to see you burn, bleed out, drown. They want you dead, much more than they want me dead. The only reason no one has done a thing about it is because it would be too risky. You've got some nerve walking into a den of venomous snakes and thinking you can take them all on without even realizing what danger you've just walked in on."

"I know what danger is," Hermione stated boldly, setting her chin and glaring. "Besides, I wasn't going down there to 'take them on'. I was simply following orders."

"Right, so you've told me. And that's why you go running into the Slytherin dungeons spitting insults and threats after you just helped kill their master. Since when do you act like that? You could have fit right in with all the Slytherins, the way you confronted Jugson. By the way, what the hell _was_ that?"

"None of your business, Malfoy."

"Oh, so I'm back to Malfoy now, am I? No 'Draco' anymore? Have you finally let go of your silly polite notions?"

"Stop it."

"Don't you know who her father is?"

Hermione steeled her body from fleeing, tried to remain calm, but her blood was boiling and her hair was bristling with electricity.

"Thomas Malloy Jugson, first class high ranked Death Eater, served with your father, one of Voldemort's loyal henchmen. Date of birth is January 2nd, 1957. Born in Munich, Germany to Calliopia and Constantine Jugson. Raised a Catholic, but is now an atheist. Prefect in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Married to Vanessa Lucinda Carol, a graduate from Durmstrang. Has two children, both girls. Geneva Forsythia and Columbia Anais. Half-blood."

Draco gawked at her.

"I do my homework."

_Especially on those who helped kidnap and torture me._

"You've finally lost it, haven't you?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but closed her lips, shaking her head.

"You'd never understand," she whispered, tears sparking her eyes as she turned away, folding her arms.

He exhaled deeply and began to walk off, as if _he_ were the victim, as if _he_ had the problem. Hermione remained where she was, gazing up at the moon, breathing in the night air to help calm her frazzled nerves. The moon was a waxing crescent, strong and fortified, almost impenetrable as the full moon, but not quite there. She wished she were more like the moon.

"Well, are you coming or not?"

Startled, Hermione came back to earth, her eyes landing on the boy in front of her. Draco stood a few paces away, staring at her expectantly. His hair was the color of the autumn moon, fair and shining, wisps of silver blowing about in the breeze. He stood out in the darkness like an ethereal cherub, brightly pale.

Hermione was surprised, once again, by his behavior. He'd ignored her to the best of his ability all week long, and then mere _moments_ ago he'd practically strangled her for going against what he wanted. And now he was as polite and studious as she had been on the Hogwarts Express.

He was back to being civil now, was he? Fine. Two could play at that game, then. She set off after him, walking briskly by his side, keeping pace in silence. She didn't understand why she felt so angry with him. It wasn't his fault, what had happened to her, what the Slytherins had said. In fact, she should be thanking him for coming to her aid. The truth was, even though she hated to admit it, she was scared. She was scared of falling back into that dark place she'd just barely managed to claw out from. She'd made so much progress, and for what? So, she could end up shutting everyone out again, destroying her happiness? No, not again.

Hermione put on a small smile and sucked in a deep breath. Things were going to be okay. Everything was fine.

_Distractions, _she thought, _I need a distraction._ She gazed up at the night sky again.

"Isn't the moon pretty?"

She bit her lip. The comment had slipped before she had time to realize she'd said it. She held her breath, awaiting Draco's scoff and snide remark on her stupidity. Instead, he surprised her again when he nodded his head, his eyes drifting up toward the silver mass in the sky.

"Sure."

She swallowed, kicking a pebble with the toe of her shoe.

"So, I was discussing ideas with the prefects tonight, and they brought up a pretty good idea. I said I'd run it by you."

"Alright," he said and she continued.

"They suggested we host a dance. A masquerade."

Draco smirked, rolling his eyes.

"A dance," he repeated, then cleared his throat.

"Well, I think it is a good idea to bring unity to the houses. We've been searching for ideas, haven't we? And so far, this is the best we could come up with."

"Okay."

"Okay? As in you think it's a good idea?"

"Sure. I mean, I see your point. Plus, we could pull it off. But we've got to make sure it's better than the last dance we had. The Yule Ball was a bust."

"We discussed that, too. So, I think we should run it by McGonagall as soon as we can."

"Sure. When?"

"Well, they think December would be a good time to host it, so as soon as possible."

"That's fine."

"And we're going to need your assistance in the helping process, of course."

"Me? What can I do?"

"Well, we're going to need help getting the student body involved and publicizing the event. And I figured, if it's not too much trouble, that you could ask your mother for her help or advice, considering her reputation with parties."

His lips twtiched. "I'd prefer not bringing my mother into the chaos of this school."

"I understand."

"But I'll ask her for some ideas."

"Really?" she said, smiling. "That'd be wonderful."

They were silent for the remainder of the night; the only sounds were of crickets, rustling leaves, and the occasional howl of an animal in the woods. In the distance, Hermione spotted the Quidditch pitch with its high goal posts and felt a suffocating ache inside her heart, remembering Harry and Ron. Hogwarts just wasn't the same without them; nothing was the same anymore.

"Do you still play Quidditch?" she asked curiously, breaking their long silence.

He sighed and his eyes fell upon the Quidditch pitch. "Why?"

"I just know there's a match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin tomorrow," she responded. "It's supposed to be a really good game, but what do I know? Mostly all I know comes from Ginny and Harry."

"Right."

"You never answered my question," she reminded him.

"Question? Oh, right." He frowned. "No, I don't play."

"Really," she said, nodding. "Why?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" he snapped.

"I was just trying to be friendly."

He scoffed, rubbing his eyes.

"Why, Granger? We aren't friends."

"I know that."

Up ahead she spotted Hagrid's hut and she had to restrain the urge to run straight up to the half-giant and squeeze him to death. He was in his pumpkin patch, making sure his lovely prize-winning crops were in good condition. When he spotted Hermione, he quinted and then broke into a wide grin, giving her a wave. She waved happily back.

"Then why do you keep acting like it?"

"I only thought it would be a good idea for us to at least give off the impression that we get along, considering we are spending all of our free time together."

"Don't remind me," he muttered.

"_What_ was that?"

"Nothing. Look, Granger, being civil does not entail being the best of pals, okay? I'm not interested."

"I know that!" she snapped. "You know what? I don't even see why I bother with you. You're never going to change."

"Oh, wah, Granger. Do you need a handkerchief?"

"You're very rude," she stated.

"And you're very annoying," he griped and checked his watch. "Thank Salazaar—it's time to turn in. Goodnight, Granger."

He turned on his heel and stalked back up to the castle before she could even return the abrasive sentiment. Sucking in a deep breath, she trudged off toward Hagrid, fuming.

"Heard 'bout ya bein' paired with that lad," Hagrid said after calming her down. "I knew it'd be a bad idea, that."

"Hagrid, that's very kind, but McGonagall has her reasons," she sighed, checking her watch. "Anyway, I'd better head in; just thought I'd stop by and say hello."

"Alrigh'," he conceeded, giving her another hug. "But be careful, ya'hear?"

She turned around to give him a small smile.

"You know Hagrid, this is going to sound completely absurd, but I don't think he'd hurt me," she said and then gazed up at the castle. "There's something changed in him."

And there_ was_ something. Something. Something.

She just couldn't understand _what_.


	9. Predictable

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N:** Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Eight <span>_

_Predictable_

* * *

><p><em>Clouds filled with stars cover the skies<br>And I hope it rains, you're the  
>perfect lullaby<br>What kinda dream is this?  
>You could be a sweet dream<br>or a beautiful nightmare  
>Either way I don't wanna wake up from you<em>

_"Sweet Dreams"_—_Beyonce_

* * *

><p><em>Draco,<em>

_You are now nineteen—an age of manhood—and with this age comes great responsibility, in our world and otherwise. This box holds something which has been passed down in our family for generations. If you have not looked as to what is inside it yet, please do so now. _

_This ring is considered one of the finest Malfoy heirlooms. Your mother and I both agreed to trust you to take great care of it. It was given to your great-great grandfather by a powerful sorceress. It was rumored that the ring had special powers, none of which we have uncovered. No one, other than your great-great grandfather, has ever claimed of strong powers._

_But it is a prized possession, marking your rise in society as a man. From this moment on, the ring is yours, until you one day have an heir to pass it on to. This ring now marks you as the heir to the Malfoy bloodline. Use it well._

_Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy_

"__—_bloody_ makes _no_ sense."

Draco, frustrated, threw the parchment onto the bed next to the rosewood box that once encased the Malfoy heirloom. His head ached already from his annoying banter with Hermione outside, but now that he had returned from his rounds and lounged atop his bed, his head throbbed to an even worser extent as he tried and once again failed to come to some explanation about his new ring.

For the third time that night, Draco skimmed over the letter. He had to wonder if his ring did indeed have powers, had to wonder if the rumors were true. But what powers? Powers to _predict the future?_

"Impossible," he grumbled. "Like I'm going to believe that this _ring_ is some tool that makes me into some less psychotic version of Trelawney? Right."

But strange things had been happening, there was no doubt of that. And they all had come about when he'd received the ring. He'd never even dreamed much before the ring came into his life, and now he could not sleep one night without being bombarded with some odd dream.

_If only there was some way to find out more,_ he thought furiously.

He was suddenly jarred out of his troubled thoughts by the sound of a door shutting from somewhere outside his half-closed bedroom door. Figuring Hermione had finally returned from her rounds and turned in for the night, Draco grabbed some pajamas and set off down the stairs toward the communal bathroom he and Hermione shared. He decided it was high time he stop dwelling on that flabbergasting ring and relax from the stressful night. However, the gods just didn't seem to be on his side that night.

He shook the knob to the bathroom maddeningly, only to hear the shower faucet turn on and a quiet soprano voice start to hum a melodic tune he didn't recognize. He growled, releasing the knob from his grip and stalking over to the couch, deciding to wait for his turn in the shower. Grumbling, he leaned over and picked up Hermione's forgotten novel, _Pride and Prejudice,_ from the coffee table, lazily paging through it.

"_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a wife." _

_"_Oh, how rich," he muttered sardonically. "Cheap, old fashioned, and dripping with disgusting, ancient feminism. What rubbish."

He threw the novel down after skimming through the first chapter and marched over to the bathroom door, rapping his knuckles on the wood separating the two of them. When his only response from her was more humming, he growled and thudded his fist on the door.

"Granger, hurry up!"

Draco once again seated himself upon the couch and reached for the novel again, out of boredom. Despite himself, he soon found the distasteful literature somewhat endearing. He felt like such a prat, concentrating on such obvious Muggle trash, but he found that the woes of Elizabeth Bennett__—__whose personality was as equally irritating as Hermione's in some circumstances__—__cleared his turbulent mind from anything important.

"You can borrow that, if you want. I've read it near to ten times."

Draco started, nearly chucking the paperback into the fire. Instead, it fumbled out of his hands, slid gracefully across the coffee table, and landed upon the hearth with a dutiful _smack_. Hermione, who now stood just outside the door to the shower room, snickered. His eyes involuntarily roamed over her dark blue cotton pants and her modest white pajama top. When his eyes traced up to her rosy cheeked face, he noted she was drying her sopping wet hair with a towel.

"It's a bunch of rubbish," he stated dryly, standing up hastily. "You certainly took long enough. Did you manage to leave me _any_ warm water?"

Immediately following his words, a frown crept up her skin to take the place of her once amused smile.

"I happen to enjoy my long showers. It gives me a quiet, relaxing place to think__—__"

"I don't care about what you do in the shower, Granger," he croaked hurriedly, throwing his hands up. "I _really_ don't want that image in my head. Next time, I take the shower first, since you can't stick to a normal fifteen minutes like any normal person would."

He watched the small movements in her throat as she swallowed and scooped up her book from the floor.

"Fine," she said softly and turned away from him to trudge up the stairs. "Goodnight, Draco."

Ignoring her last comment and the foreign pang he felt in his chest as he'd witnessed her frown, he set off toward the bath, noting gratefully that she had not, in fact, disposed of all the hot water. He stripped and gladly enveloped himself in the warm mist, closing the heavy gold shower curtain behind him. The aroma in the peach tiled shower still lingered of Hermione—rose scented soap and eucalyptus shampoo, a scent so tranquil and herbal it made all the tension in his shoulders relax. Numbly, he exited the shower ten minutes later and brushed his teeth before retiring upstairs.

Sleep soon overpowered him, lulling him deeply into the dark abyss of dreams until he was soon tossing and turning.

He was distantly aware when his feet hit the floor of his dream. It was an eerie and slightly disconcerting feeling, walking about in the vortex of dreams. He could tell he was dreaming—he recognized the familiar mist that often came with these type of dreams, the slight chill that hung in the air, the quiet machine-like humming that enveloped his surroundings.

He swallowed, blinked, and struggled to find his bearings as his dream began to spin out before him. He was sitting in the Quidditch stands with Pansy, the air was bitingly cold, and he was right in the middle of watching the first game of the season fall into place before him. Everything was still foggy as his eyes darted over to Blaise. The game was unfurling fast around him, too fast—unnaturally fast. His stomach felt queasy, his eyes felt out of focus, and his head was swirling with all the images flying past him like a colorful kaleidoscope.

Suddenly, it all came to a jarring standstill in a freeze frame. The dream froze upon one singular face, and unlike the rest of the dream had been up to this point, this image was perfectly clear. He saw her bright and clear, as if she was sunshine herself. The stubborn Gryffindor was huddled in a navy pea coat and a dark red hat, wisps of honey hair licking the wind as she buried her chin deeper into her scarlet scarf. Her eyes were alight with an emotion so familiar to him, he had to wonder what was possibly making her so terrified. Hermione gasped, her face stricken with panic as she watched events unfolding in the game which he could not see. Beside her, Ginny Weasley screamed soundlessly and covered her lips with her crimson gloved hands.

No matter how much he tried, he could not turn away from Hermione's clear face and was forced to watch as she, too, let out a shrill shriek that, unlike Ginny's soundless screech, echoed around the entire pitch, pulling him away from her and back across the pitch. The dream started back up again in a flourish, fast and furious. Dizzy by the pace of the dream, Draco could only stand to watch as Blaise ducked a bludger and snatched the snitch from the rainy sky before his vision started to deplete. Then, suddenly, there was a flash of red that lit up the entire spectrum of the dream and suddenly all he could see was blood__—everywhere. __

He awoke with a start, dripping in a cold sweat, with Hermione's screams still enveloping his brain. And as he stared down at his trembling fingers, he noticed his ring had turned the crimson color of blood.

* * *

><p>"Well, you look like a train wreck," Blaise announced later that morning.<p>

Draco slid lethargically into his seat next to Pansy, who was dressed to the nines in nothing but forest green and silver. She barely acknowledged him, scoping the Slytherin table for something or someone. It was the morning of the Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw game and across the table, Blaise looked fiercely stressed.

"Weird dreams," Draco responded and rested his head on his hand.

"That bites. You've been having quite a few weird dreams lately. What's with that?"

Draco shrugged, staring at the fruit bowl in front of him with blank eyes.

"So, Blaise, where's the rest of your newly assembled team?" asked Pansy, returning her gaze to her cereal.

"Theo was in here a while ago, but he left with Astoria," Blaise explained and Pansy's eyes shot up to Blaise's face, narrowing as he went on. "She was freaking out, it being her first Quidditch game and all, and Theo offered to take her to the pitch early to play a few rounds and help her relax."

Pansy cleared her throat, opening her mouth to ask another question, but Draco cut her off.

"Wait, Theo is on your team?" he interrupted.

"Yeah, he's a chaser," Pansy informed him with a frown. "You really haven't been around lately, have you?" Sighing, Pansy rose from her seat and rested a hand on Draco's shoulder lightly. "Anyway, I'm going to head off and try to catch Theo before the game. I'll save you a seat, Draco?"

Draco nodded his assent and returned to Blaise, who was watching Pansy leave with tight, worried eyes.

"Do you think Panse is okay? She seems a bit off," Blaise wondered, spooning porridge into his mouth.

"Yeah, don't worry about her. I'm sure it is just the first game of the season jitters she always gets. You know how she is when it comes to Quidditch—the girl is almost more a fanatic than us."

At this, they both shared a chuckle, knowing full well how truthful his statement was.

"So, who else is on your team? I've been so busy with Granger and all these Head duties, I totally forgot to ask," Draco said.

"I've noticed. Well, there's Rhonheimer, Avery, Astoria, Theo, Rosier, and myself," Blaise listed off.

"Avery and _Rosier_?" Draco nearly gagged. "Really, Blaise?"

"Draco, honestly. I know you hate the bloke. I do, too; he's a wanker. But he's a damn good beater and if we want to win this year, we need him on our team."

"Right, but _Avery_? Blaise, you know how he is! Why the hell would you put him on the same team with Astoria? Especially since Astoria is the _only_ female on the team! Are you bloody insane?" Draco spouted.

"Perhaps. Look, I've already warned Avery that if he steps out of bounds in any fashion, he's a dead man. Plus, I also warned Astoria since I know how naive she can be."

"If he so much as looks at her the wrong way, I swear I'll kill him," Draco vowed ominously and Blaise mirrored him with a nod.

"I know, mate, and I will, too. She's like a sister to both of us; how could I possibly let anything happen to her?" Blaise said, finishing the last of his bacon. "Anyway, I need to be heading off. Plus, it looks like you've got company approaching. Meet you after the game?"

Draco vaguely sensed Hermione's small frame approaching his table and sighed. Suddenly, his dream came crashing back into his mind and before he could resist the impulse, he called out to Blaise. The tall Italian swung around with a questioning glance.

"Look, Blaise, I know this is going to sound completely mad, but in the last seconds of the game, a bludger is going to come at you. You aren't going to see it at first because of the rain, so make sure you that when you finally see it that you wait until the last possible moment before ducking from the bludger so that it surprises the Ravenclaw seeker and you can grab the snitch, okay?"

Blaise blinked rapidly, completely thrown off and no doubt thinking he was utterly barking.

"You're off your rocker. What in Salazar's sweet name are you on about?"

"Just do what I say, okay? Trust me."

"Trust you—well, there's a laugh."

"Blaise, if you want to win this game, you'll do exactly as I say," Draco pressed. "It's going to be a very close game and we run the risk of losing if you don't do exactly as I tell you to."

"And how would you possibly know this?" Blaise wondered, smirking. "Did you steal the play sheets from the Ravenclaw team?"

"It's just a hunch," Draco responded. By that time, Hermione had arrived at the table. "Anyway, you better be off. And remember what I told you."

"Hey, Granger," Blaise greeted with his traditional smirk. "Make sure you keep a lid on this one; he gets some pretty crazy ideas sometimes."

He gave her a wink before he simply turned, shook his head, and walked out of the Great Hall, laughing the whole way.

"Good morning," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"Morning," Draco replied with a yawn.

"Late night?" she wondered, tugging on the sleeve of her navy blue pea coat. He swallowed upon realizing she was holding a dark red knit hat and gloves in her pale hands—the very same she had been wearing in his dream that morning.

"What's it to you?"

"I was just wondering," she said, shrugging. "I came to let you know that I set up a meeting with McGonagall to discuss our plans for the masquerade and she wants to see us in her office before the game, so we should probably head off soon if we want decent seats."

Draco couldn't believe his ears. Had Hermione-Nose-In-A-Book-Granger just insisted they_hurry_ a meeting with a professor so that they could get seats at a Quidditch game?

"I thought you didn't like Quidditch?"

"I'm not fond of it, I'll admit, but I've grown accustomed to it over the years," Hermione replied indifferently. "Besides, I promised Harry I would go to every game for him."

"How very endearing," Draco drawled.

The meeting with McGonagall did not last very long after she had approved their plans, since the headmistress herself was an avid Quidditch fan and did not wish to miss a second of that morning's game. Upon exiting the castle, Hermione secured her knit hat over her wild mane of tresses and slipped on her gloves. Outside, it was starting to drizzle, the iron gray clouds above grumbling ominously. Draco shivered and pulled his cloak around him to secure the heat that was rapidly leaving his body. It was still only September, but the weather this particular morning marked the beginning of the autumn season with great potency.

"Enjoy the game," Hermione said with a small smile before she tore off across the grass toward the stadium, leaving Draco behind.

By the time he found Pansy, the game had already begun, as had the rain.

"I figured you wouldn't want to be around all of the Slytherins right now, considering what happened last night between you and Granger in the dungeons," she explained, gesturing to the crowd of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs surrounding them.

A few Gryffindors and a select amount of Slytherins were also in the same crowd they were. The remainder of the Slytherins did not take well to the "no house prejudices" rule McGonagall had enforced, however, and remained in one aloof section toward the far right of the stadium, far from the other students.

"Rumors spread like wildfire in the Slyterhin common room, you know. You should be more careful."

"Did you find Theo?" he asked once he'd taken his seat next to her, choosing to ignore her previous comment.

"No, but I ran into Astoria briefly. She told me he was getting changed," she responded hollowly.

"Panse, you know if something is wrong—"

"Nothing is wrong," Pansy said hurriedly, replacing her frown with an insincere smile.

"Pansy—"

"Draco, please," Pansy sighed. "I'm fine. Please, don't press it. I just want to watch the game, okay?"

He nodded, leaving her be. He knew that if something was wrong she would tell him in her own time. Till then, she just needed space, which he was more than willing to give. Frankly, though he was concerned for his friend, he was in no state to comfort. Thankful for the space, Pansy chafed her hands together, seeking warmth, and lost herself in the game, shouting out several obscenities when she witnessed foul play.

After several hours, Draco lost interest in the heated game and leaned his head back, blinking rapidly as the sleets of icy moisture rained down on his freezing cheeks. The wind spat viscously, biting at his skin. He groaned, rubbing his head as he returned them to the chaos in the pitch.

"Are you _mad_? How can you _not_ call that? This is totally botched!" roared Pansy, jumping angrily to her feet along with several other Slytherins around them.

"How are you seeing all of these supposed fouls?" Draco wondered and in response Pansy flashed him a pair of brand new omnioculars.

"I bought them over the summer," Pansy announced, sitting back down. "Here, go on and take a look. If you want to see a replay, just press that knob right there."

He took the omnioculars from her frozen grip and glanced through them, scoping the action through the pitch. That's when he spotted her, bobbing up and down in her seat next to a transfixed Ginny Weasley, her golden curls bouncing too and fro as she waved over Neville Longbottom. Once Neville had broken through the barrier of students and arrived safely at Hermione and Ginny's side, all three friends embraced and began talking excitedly about something. Ginny pointed out on the pitch, talking animatedly about something that had just happened.

"Wasn't your ring green before?" Pansy asked suddenly.

Draco tore his eyes away from the excited Gryffindors and down at his ring. Sure enough, his ring had turned a bloody red color, like a ruby. He shook his hand and shrugged before raising the omnioculars to eyes again.

"It does that from time to time," he said distantly.

"But that's very rare," Pansy continued. "Green and red are two completely different colors on the—"

"Spectrum, I know," he finished. "Granger said the exact same thing."

Pansy narrowed her eyes and turned her attention away from him. He leaned forward in his seat to get a better view and finally, after searching the entire pitch, he spotted Blaise roaming the pitch. He managed to keep an eye on Blaise, praying he would take his advice, but soon Blaise shot out of sight and Draco returned to scoping the pitch again, shuddering against the increasing rain.

"Blaise! Oh my_ God_, he's going to run right into it!" Pansy shrieked spontaneously and Draco shot up from his seat, searching the pitch through the omnioculars and spotting Blaise and the Ravenclaw seeker, Mitchell Gorde, right ahead of them, right in earshot.

"Blaise, look out! Oh my God, I can't watch. Do _something_!" Pansy cried hysterically.

It was at that moment that Draco's eyes caught sight of another person shooting up from their seat. Hermione Granger. She was the only one, besides Ginny, Neville, and Loony Lovegood, standing in the swarm of lounging students. She was watching the bludger streak toward the two seekers, pale faced and horrified, her gloved hands shooting to cover her trembling lips.

Just like the dream.

_Right, so it turns out I _am_ some less psychotic version of Trelawney,_ he thought sardonically.

Blaise, he knew, could clearly see the bludger now, yet he looked too panicked to do anything. Draco wondered if Blaise remembered what he had told him. Desperate for his best friend to hear him, Draco called out to him, shouting for him to duck, but Blaise could not hear him. Frantic, Draco climbed over the people in front of him, scrambling toward the edge of the stand. Once there, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted as loud as he could.

"Blaise, duck!" he cried and Blaise swung around, searching for Draco, thankfully hearing his desperate plea. Confused, he stared at Draco and then back at the speeding bludger, only a few feet from him now.

_"Now!_" Draco hollered, gesturing for Blaise to move.

Blaise, only seconds away from being completely crushed by the bludger, suddenly pivoted and swung gracefully around his broom, hanging upside down. He watched Blaise rocket up toward the gray sky, hand outstretched toward the snitch. Just as his fingers closed on the snitch, there was a deafening _crunch, _followed by several screams of horror. Draco didn't even have time to register what had happened before the lenses of the omnioculars were spattered with blood. He felt a warm wetness on his cheek, dropped the omnioculars, and lifted a shaky hand to his cheek. When he gazed down at his fingers, he swallowed painfully.

They were covered in blood.

He nearly careened off the edge of the stadium as a group of Hufflepuffs plowed him over, desperate to watch in horror as Mitchell Gorde, his face an unrecognizable fountain of blood, fractured bone, and shredded skin, plummeted the short distance off his broom and toward the frost bitten earth below, landing with a sickening _crack._

Off to his far right, there was a roar from the Slytherin side. Flags and scarves waved in a sea of green and silver.

"Slytherin wins!"

It only took a few moments before the rest of the student body caught sight of the fallen Ravenclaw. Chaos soon followed—there were tears, hysterical screaming, blubbering, and millions of questions. Draco immediately grappled to find Pansy and once he had, he clutched her hand tightly so that they could both trek through the mass of jittery students without losing each other.

"That was horrible," Pansy gasped once they had made it safely into the castle. "Do you think he's going to be okay?"

Moments later, a floating stretcher whisked in through the doors, carrying a deformed and very limp Mitchell Gorde to the hospital wing. McGonagall soon followed, trailed by several other professors.

"I'm not sure," Draco answered hoarsely, watching as the stretcher disappeared up the stairs. "The bludger hit him really hard and at an incredibly speed."

"Yes, but the fall wasn't that high," Pansy choked out, raising her hand to her throat, going strangely pale. "You don't think he'll die, do you?"

_Maybe,_ Draco thought bitterly. He couldn't help feeling like he was the one to blame for the outcome of the game. He had been the one, after all, who had dreamed of the events before they had happened. He had seen the bludger, seen Slytherin win the game, seen Hermione Granger scream at something that had happened. He had seen the blood.

But how was he supposed to have known that Mitchell would have been the one to suffer the blow, and that it would have done so much damage?

He swallowed and placed his arm around Pansy. "He'll be okay."

"If it hadn't been for you, Draco, Blaise would have been on that stretcher," Pansy stated and tears brimmed her eyes at the very thought of it. "I can't even think about it. What if it had been Blaise?"

"It wasn't," he comforted, giving her a small squeeze. "You should go find Astoria. I'm sure she is more traumatized than you."

"You're right," Pansy agreed and, sucking in a deep breath to steady her emotions, took off toward the Slytherin common room to find her friend.

Despite himself, Draco couldn't stop the flood of relief that rushed through his entire being at the thought that Blaise was safe and that it _could have been him. _Quite frankly, it no longer mattered whether or not Blaise ducking that bludger had been his ticket to winning the game and putting Slytherin first; it meant much more now. That dream, though it might have impacted another person for the worse, had given Draco the tools to save his best friend's life.

"Alright," Blaise suddenly shouted, coming out of nowhere and shoving him into the stone wall. "What the bloody hell was that?"

When Draco failed to respond immediately, Blaise slammed him into the wall again, eyes wild and fearful.

"Tell me what just happened, damn you! How did you know that was going to happen? Why didn't you tell Mitchell, too?"

"Because I didn't know that was going to happen to him!" Draco erupted, shoving Blaise away from him. "I only knew that in order for you to win the game, you had to duck that bludger! Everything else was out of my hands, I swear!"

Despite the Ravenclaw seeker being injured before their very eyes only _minutes_ ago, pools of Slytherins were drifting in, singing victoriously as they headed toward the dungeons for their post-game celebrations. It looked as if Blaise had only just been able to get away from the glory crowd, and he seemed to be incredibly upset by the rest of the Slytherins' reactions.

"You told me how to win. You knew what was going to happen before it happened. How?" he demanded, his voice low.

"We can't talk here," Draco said finally and together the two boys hurried to the Head dorm, shutting themselves in Draco's bedroom.

"Well?" Blaise demanded.

"I can see the future," Draco admitted and Blaise nearly clocked him upside the head.

"I'm serious!" he flared.

"So am I!" Draco snarled and stuck his hand in Blaise's face so that his ring was in clear view. "_That's_ how I can see the future, Blaise. This ring—remember that day in Transfiguration when my ring changed colors and it started burning my hand? You claimed it had a reaction."

"Yeah, to Granger. Besides, I said that as a joke," Blaise recalled.

"Well, it's true. Ever since I got this ring, I've been having dreams that come true. They're really confusing and sometimes don't always show me every detail, which makes it more confusing, and sometimes leaves things out completely for me to figure out on my own. It's all in that letter by the box. Go on, read it if you don't believe me."

Blaise numbly took the letter from Draco's nightstand and quickly read through it.

"Oh, bloody hell."

"No one in my family but that ancestor mentioned in that letter has been able to bring about these powers. Now, for some reason, I can."

Blaise raked his hand through his black hair. "I thought you were going mental. I can't believe this. This is mad, utterly mad. How much more do you know about this ring?"

"So, you believe me?" Draco asked hesitantly.

"Of _course_ I believe you, you wanker," Blaise scoffed. "How could I not after today?"

"Well, I don't know anything about this ring other than the fact that it predicts the future and makes me have the most absurd dreams."

"Don't forget that it has reactions to Granger."

"I can't believe you are joking about this right now," Draco muttered.

"Okay, fine, but it does react, doesn't it? It's temperature increased drastically in mere seconds and it changes color."

"It changed color today!" Draco suddenly recalled, lurching off of his bed to pace the floor. "Once after my dream and again at the game, right before the bludger came at you."

"This is confusing as all hell, mate," Blaise grumbled. "Why did it turn color?"

"I have no clue. Maybe it was warning me that something was going to happen?"

"Can't be," Blaise stated. "The ring changed color in Transfiguration and there wasn't anything dangerous lurking about in the shadows to snag my shoelace."

"Then I haven't got the foggiest idea," Draco sighed, slumping.

"Well, I suggest you do some research. Maybe ask Narcissa about it," suggested Blaise. "Anyway, I'm starved. Let's get some dinner."

They both descended the stairs and exited the portrait hole.

"And you know, just because something horrible happened to Mitchell Gorde, doesn't mean the ring is sent from hell. I'm alive and Slytherin won, right? I, for one, have never seen Slytherin so happy in my whole life."

They both laughed.

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say that's a _good_ thing."


	10. Admirer

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Thank you for those who read and reviewed! I have missed this fanfiction and all of you so very much. I've been incredibly ill, but I'm doing so much better now, thankfully, so let's hope it remains that way! I started a new job and have started up my classes at the university, so I will write whenever I can squeeze in time through my chaotic life. Please review and tell me your opinions on the story because I'd really love to hear more from everyone. Even if it is just a small line or two, just PM or review. Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Nine<span>_

_Admirer_

* * *

><p><em>Words can relay nice<br>They can cut you open  
>And the silence surrounds you<br>And holds you  
>I think I might've inhaled you<br>I could feel you behind my eyes  
>You gotten into my bloodstream<br>I could feel you floating in me  
><em>

_"Bloodstream"_—_Stateless_

* * *

><p>"<em>All <em>of the bones in his face were completely shattered," Ginny was saying as she turned a page from _Ancient Transfiguration Volume II_.

"Uh, better be careful, Gin," Neville warned, gesturing to the edge of Ginny's library book, which was edging ever closer to the pile of mashed potatoes on her dinner plate. "I don't know who'd be more upset about the damage, Hermione or Madame Pince."

Ginny rolled her eyes, throwing an apologetic look toward Hermione, and shifted the book away from her dinner plate.

"Well, it was Hermione's brilliant idea to study at the dinner table. We were originally set to study in the library but the game ran too long, and then after what happened to Mitchell, I just couldn't focus."

"Without food in your system, you mean," Neville snorted and Ginny rolled her eyes again. "Famous Weasley stomach."

Hermione cringed, choosing to ignore their banter for the topic more important at hand, and shook her head, thinking back to the game. "How awful. But he's going to be okay?"

"He should be," Ginny sighed, closing her library book and reaching for a roll. "I heard that he needs to stay in the infirmary for two whole weeks. But then again, I've only heard what Romilda has been spouting around."

"Romilda?" questioned Hermione, her eyes drifting over to the dark haired sixth year.

"She and Mitchell Gorde used to date, but he broke up with her a few days ago," Ginny clarified and Hermione's jaw dropped.

"_He_ dated _her?_"

Ginny and Neville both nodded simultaneously. Further down the table, Romilda was sniffling loudly, recounting her tale about her and Mitchell's break up.

"I just can't believe it's really over," she blubbered into her friend Gina's shoulder. "And he could have died today! To think I never would have had the chance to tell him I still love him."

"What a load of hogwash," Ginny scoffed, smacking her hand down on the table, rattling the pile of library books she and Hermione had checked out earlier that day. "She's such a fake little fishtail."

"_Fishtail?"_ Neville and Hermione chorused.

"Shut up," Ginny snapped, but she chuckled along with them moments later.

"So, how's the Transfiguartion project coming?" asked Neville and both Hermione and Ginny groaned.

"It's coming along slowly," Hermione sighed. "We've checked out about a dozen books, but they aren't giving us much information."

"I'm sure you guys will figure it out," Neville comforted. "After all, if Lily Potter could do it, so can you two."

Ginny and Hermione shared a mutual look, both nodding at each other. Neville always had this incredible knack for making others believe in themselves, and after such a turbulent day it was nice to have that faith re-instigated into their minds.

"Maybe we should just hold off on the studying for the rest of the night," Ginny suggested, pushing the pile of library books across the table toward Hermione. "I don't know about you but I'm exhausted and my brain is not functioning. I think, in light of today's events, we should just give it rest tonight."

Hermione worried her bottom lip before nodding in agreement, giving in. She knew, despite herself, that tonight would only hinder them if they continued with their project, instead of benefiting them.

Suddenly, Hermione jolted in her seat. An invisibly warm tingling enveloped her entire being, fire prickling like hot needles across her skin. She swallowed and grasped her wand instinctively. She knew this feeling, the way her body reacted. She was in the throes of a simple, yet powerful charm. Though she could tell the magic was not Dark, her heart still hammered in her chest. Ginny, who also seemed to register the shift of magic around them, stared above Hermione's head in wonder.

"Uh, Hermione, what's above your head?" Neville wondered, focusing on something swirling above her.

Hermione's eyes rolled upward and widened, watching in awe as a swirl of gold dust materialized above her, causing a static current to lift the strands of her hair upward. Transfixed, they were all startled when there was a loud _pop_ and a blue bird formed in place of the dust, zipping and chirping above Hermione's head excitedly.

"What in Merlin's name?" shouted Ginny above the chirping, ducking low in her seat as the bird circled above them.

The bird then began to steadily expand, growing fatter and fatter, its chirping becoming increasingly louder, until it finally exploded, transforming into a simple blue piece of paper that drifted lazily through the air until it plopped onto Hermione's dinner plate.

"What the bloody hell was _that_?" Ginny gasped fiercely, staring savagely down at the blue piece of paper now resting on Hermione's mashed potatoes.

"I have no idea," Hermione spluttered, unclamping her hand and reaching for the note. "It appears to be some kind of charmed paper."

"Well, open it," Neville demanded.

Ginny gazed down at the piece of paper now clutched in Hermione's hand with suspicion. "Where'd it come from?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione stated, biting her lip once more. "It's addressed to me."

"I saw it coming from over there," said a fourth year to her right, gesturing toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Whoever charmed it might still be out there," Neville said.

Ginny snatched the note from Hermione's hands suddenly and closed her eyes, her fingers tracing over the folded paper expertly. When her eyes opened again she seemed to sigh in relief and handed the note back to Hermione.

"I couldn't sense any Dark magic from it," she said by way of explanation and shook her head. "It should be safe to open, if you want."

Just then, someone tall and muscular, shrouded in black, walked briskly through the entrance of the Great Hall and toward the Gryffindor table.

"No way," Ginny whispered, her jaw dropping. "_Pieter Kartrick_ sent you this?"

Hermione watched the mysterious transfer student slowly lower himself into a seat far from the other students at the table. He kept to himself and always arrived late to everything, as if he didn't wish to be caught around anyone.

"You don't know that," Hermione argued, but just as the words escaped her mouth, Pieter's dark eyes instantly connected with hers, penetrating into her own. They briefly left her face, only to stare intensely at the note in her hand before he hastily looked away.

"Who else could it have been, Hermione?" Ginny insisted. "The charm came from _outside_ the Great Hall and then, only moments after you receive it, he casually walks in and sits down? Put the pieces together."

"It doesn't mean that it was him, Ginny," Hermione persisted, rolling her eyes. "It could have been anyone."

"Right," scoffed the redhead. "Just look at him, so obviously avoiding everyone. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, so he gave you the note through a charm. Clever, I'll give him that much."

"Ginny, just stop," Hermione sighed, glancing warily at the quiet young man sitting all alone at the end of their table.

"I don't like him," Ginny declared abruptly, staring at him openly.

"You don't even know him," Neville laughed, elbowing her. "Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly," Ginny defended, looking off into the distance. "He gives me a bad vibe. He has a certain darkness to him."

Hermione swallowed. She knew that Ginny had an uncanny knack for detecting Dark forces because of her involvement with Tom Riddle's diary and Lord Voldemort's possession over her, but Hermione often thought she got a little carried away. She tended to look for the bad in others at times, rather than give them the benefit of the doubt, which Hermione could not necessarily blame her for.

"Look, Gin," Hermione said, waving the note in her face, "you even said you felt no Dark magic connected to this note. So, even if it _was_ Pieter Kartrick, he meant no ill by sending this to me. Am I right?"

"I suppose," sighed Ginny reluctantly. "Anyway, you should open that before it spontaneously combusts."

"I don't know," Hermione worried, casting a glance at Pieter. "Maybe I should just read it privately."

Both Neville and Ginny expressed their displeasure in Hermione's decision.

"If you don't read it aloud right now, I will do it for you," Ginny told her seriously.

"Our lives are so pitifully boring, Hermione," Neville pleaded teasingly. "Will you please read it? It doesn't have to be an announcement to everyone at the table, just to us."

"I just don't think it's very appropriate to—"

Ginny snatched the note from Hermione's grip for the second time that night and unfolded it, clearing her throat in the process.

"I'm sorry, Herm, you leave me no choice," she said by way of excuse and began to scan the letter. She frowned in dejection. "There's hardly anything on here."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked worriedly. "What does it say?"

"Some weird poem," Ginny responded distantly, her brow crinkling. "Here, read for yourself."

She passed the note across the table. Hermione scanned through the poem and gasped, recognizing it immediately.

* * *

><p><em> Hermione<em><em>—<em>__

_"For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,_  
><em>Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,<em>  
><em>Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies<em>  
><em>Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.<em>  
><em>Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure<em>  
><em>Divine- a talisman- an amulet<em>  
><em>That must be worn at heart."<em>

___—An Admirer___

* * *

><p>"Why the gasp?" Neville wondered, reading the passage for himself.<p>

"It's Edgar Allan Poe," Hermione informed her friends.

"Who?" asked Ginny.

"A very famous Muggle poet," Hermione explained, smiling fondly at the poem she recognized so well. "He is one of my favorites."

"Ah," Ginny said disinterestedly. "I've never been incredibly fond of poetry, myself."

"My father used to read me poetry every night by our fireplace and he'd explain every poem to me so that I always understood what the poet was trying to say," Hermione said, chuckling at the memories. "And every October he would read from the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, but never before bedtime because it would always give me nightmares."

Neville handed Hermione the paper once more and smiled.

"It seems our Hermione has acquired a secret admirer with very good taste."

Hermione smiled, flushing. "This is absurd. Who on earth would do something like this? This type of thing only happens in storybooks."

"Well, apparently not," Ginny laughed. "You know we are never going to stop teasing you about this. And I still believe it was that Kartrick guy."

Abruptly, there was a scraping sound from the end of the table at Pieter Kartrick rose from his seat and stalked out of the Great Hall.

"Curious," Ginny whispered. "He leaves immediately after you read the note."

Hermione chose to ignore her comment and quickly stuffed the note in her pocket, her face still flushed from embarrassment.

"Okay, _why _is he still staring over here?" Ginny growled suddenly, glaring over Hermione's shoulder toward the Slytherin table. "At first I just thought he was being his usual prying, annoying self, but this is just ridiculous. Is his life so insignificant that he has to eavesdrop on other people all night long?"

Hermione followed her gaze, turning round in her seat. Directly behind her sat Draco Malfoy and his posse__—__Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and that kind Astoria girl. Out of all the Slytherins, however, it was Draco's eyes that now connected with hers. Realizing that Hermione and Ginny must be talking about him, Draco quickly averted his eyes from them and returned to the conversation going on between Blaise and Pansy. Puzzled, Hermione turned around again to face her friends.

"Well, I think I'm going to visit Madame Pince and return these," Hermione said after a moment, gathering the large pile of library books into her arms as she stood. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Neville and Ginny both said their goodbyes and she left the Great Hall, ignoring the protests her arms were making due to the excess of books in her arms. The familiar smell of the library—old musty books, wilting candle wax, and wood—filled her with a sense of comfort, easing all of her frazzled nerves.__  
><em>_

"Good evening, Miss Granger," greeted Madame Pince, her thin lips barely twitching upward in a rare and almost undetectable smile. Though the spindly black haired woman lacked the ability to be particularly friendly toward the students of Hogwarts, she was always very civil with Hermione and regarded her as one of the few students she actually tolerated.

"Good evening, Madame Pince. How are you?" Hermione grunted, dropping the pile of books onto the librarian's counter.

Ignoring Hermione's question as she always did, the woman reached for the large stack of tomes with her spidery fingers and sighed heavily.

"Returning, I presume?" she drawled.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Unfortunately, we didn't find much. We'll be back soon, though, to see if we can find the other books you suggested."

Madame Pince nodded. "Yes, those are really where I would recommend searching. If they don't satisfy your needs, however, we will search in perhaps another section."

"Thank you," Hermione said with an eager smile. "I'm very grateful for your help."

"Right, well, was there anything else you wanted?"

Hermione pondered for a moment. "I wouldn't mind trying to find a novel for a bit of light reading, but I'm too exhausted to search the shelves. Do you have any suggestions that roll off the top of your head?"

Madame Pince's beady black eyes flickered up toward the shelf behind her desk to a small row of books behind a glass casing. From her robes she withdrew a small brass key and stepped onto her ladder. Once she was on the upper rung, she inserted the brass key into a small keyhole, unlocking the glass casing. From the long row of books, she carefully withdrew three novels and carefully descended the ladder again.

"These are my very own copies of my favorite Muggle literature," Madame Pince informed her softly, presenting her with the three novels. "Up in that case rest the only Muggle literature you will find in the Hogwarts library. There used to be a whole shelf in the library for the Muggle Studies classes, but over the years they were banned. Too many students, of the green and silver variation, were abusing them. Dumbledore permitted me to keep the remaining books as my own."

Hermione stared at the copies in amazement. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You asked me for a suggestion on a bit of light reading, did you not?" Madame Pince said blandly. "Well, here you are. I trust your judgement will be responsible, Miss Granger, considering you are Muggle-born and do not wish ill on such books. I am trusting you to care for these as your own and return them to me immediately after you are finished, with no delay, or I shall fine you exceedingly. Am I clear?"

Hermione nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Madame Pince."

"These three are my personal favorites," she stated, gesturing to the books on the desk. "As you and I have similar tastes, I daresay you will enjoy them. You may pick one out of the pile and once you are finished you will bring it back to me and we will then see if you will be permitted to check out another one."

Hermione turned over the novels greedily. In the pile there were three novels__—Wuthering Heights __by Charlotte Bronte__, Tess of the D'Ubervilles __by Thomas Hardy__, __and__ The Count of Monte Cristo __by Alexander Dumas. Her nose wrinkled upon seeing that _Tess of the D'Ubervilles_ was amongst Madame Pince's favorites. She had read the novel before and had not appreciated it in the slightest. And though she had read _Wuthering Heights_ before, she selected this particular novel because it was one of her favorites and she loved reading the Bronte sister's works.

"I'll return it when I am finished," Hermione vowed and thanked the librarian once again before heading off to find her usual table by the window.

Thankful for the peace and quiet, she sank down in her chair, propped open the window a tad so that the cool air could drift into the heavy heat of the library, and opened the novel to the first page. She read for at least twenty minutes before she realized she was being watched. Placing her bookmark on the fifty-seventh page, Hermione scoped the library for spying eyes, finally spotting a pair of midnight black orbs peering at her from the top of a sketchpad. Pieter Kartrick sat only a few tables away from her, staring openly at her.

She reminded herself that it was a public library, open to all students at any hour, and that she shouldn't be alarmed by the fact that another student was there during there free time. However, she could not repress the uncomfortable heaviness settling in her stomach as her eyes locked with his.

_You're as bad as Ginny,_ Hermione scolded herself, giving Pieter an uncertain smile. Surprised, Pieter lost grip on his sketchpad and it tumbled to the floor. He hastily bent to pick it up before shoving it in his bag and hightailing it out the doors. She was so floored by his actions that she could not return to her reading. Hermione had to wonder if he was just painfully shy or if he had some sort of social disorder which prevented him from interacting normally with others.

_I only smiled at him_, Hermione defended, concerned that she had overstepped her boundaries somehow. She shook her head. She was being irrational; after all, she was only trying to be friendly.

Even so, the library seemed less comfortable now, so she withdrew from her window and exited the library for the night.

"_Oof!_"

Suddenly, she was lying flat on her back, her copy of _Wuthering Heights_ skidding across the stone floor. A shower of papers rained down, littering the hallway.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione apologized quickly, sitting up hurriedly to help the person she'd so ungracefully pranced into.

"That's quite alright," chuckled a deep, resonating male voice.

Hermione started. "Professor Thorne!"

"Hello, Hermione," Dimitri Thorne greeted, an amused smile steadily creeping up the contours of his handsome features. "Having a good night?"

"Well, for the most part," Hermione answered with a smile, feeling strangely at ease with him here and yet strangely on edge. The air between them crackled with a foreign electricity.

"I suppose no one can feel right about saying that today has been a good day, considering what misfortunes took place earlier," Profressor Thorne stated darkly and shook his head. "Poor fellow. I hope he recovers quickly."

"Me too," agreed Hermione. "It's just awful."

They shared a mutual look and smiled together, bending down in unison to scoop up the fallen papers.

"Essay prompts?" Hermione read, scanning the blank documents. "Professor Thorne, are we to have an essay?"

"Please, outside of class hours I must insist you call Dimitri," the charming professor said, his amber eyes sparkling in the dimly lit corridor. "All of this 'professor' business makes me feel so old and responsible."

Hermione let out a surprisingly loud giggle and quickly cleared her throat, amazed by herself.

"And no, this essay is not for your class, Miss Granger," he answered with a wink. "It is for my unruly last period."

"I see," she said, handing him her gathered pile of papers. Their hands lightly grazed each others before both of them retreated. She cleared her throat, wondering why she suddenly felt so warm. She had only felt this way about a teacher once before, in her third year with Professor Lupin. Now, Hermione was beginning to understand why Professor Thorne had so many girls fawning over him. "And if I am to call you by your first name out of class hours, surely you must do the same."

"Well, I suppose you are right, Miss Gra__—__Hermione," he chuckled and bowed his head in a humble manner. "Have a good night, Hermione."

"You as well," she said and watched as he disappeared around the corner.

"I like him," came a voice and Hermione whirled around, nearly plowing into Neville.

"You gave me a fright!" Hermione cried, clutching her heart.

Neville bent down to retrieve her novel, handing it to her.

"I'm sorry," he laughed heartily. "I couldn't resist. You're very jumpy tonight, aren't you? First the note, then Professor Thorne, then me?"

"I really should pay more attention," Hermione berated herself. "That whole fiasco could have been avoided."

"Well, at least it was with Professor Thorne and not Trelawney," Neville joked and Hermione nodded furiously.

"Very good point."

"Anyway, I really like Professor Thorne, don't you?"

"I do," Hermione agreed. "He's very kind. He also seems to know a lot about his subject and teaches it very well, so that I appreciate."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say those points and not something about his looks or his oozing sensuality," Neville scoffed. "Whenever I discuss Thorne with a female, all they can manage to do is gush about him. It's rather tiring after a while."

Guiltily, Hermione cleared her throat and let her eyes roam up to the high stone ceiling above them.

"He's certainly attractive," she admitted quietly, biting her lip before shaking her head. "But to base if you like him or not over his looks is just silly. It's disappointingly superficial. I'm sure there is much more to him than what they are seeking."

In fact, Hermione could tell there was more to the handsome and kind professor. A part of her wished to see deeper into him, wanting to understand him, but she pushed the thoughts further from her mind. She knew that she was just lonely and he had been a breath of fresh air, a friendly face without any expectations. And after the war, it was nice to feel free for once in the company of a stranger.

"Agreed. So, where are you headed?"

Hermione pointed to the portrait of Virginia and Felicity, the two corset wearing women that guarded the entrance into the Head common room.

"I just had to drop off my book before my rounds with Draco," she explained evenly, trying to mask her inner disdain.

"Oh, right. Well, good luck with that."

They embraced and Hermione stepped through the portrait hole to place her book on the coffee table before heading out to complete her rounds. An hour later, the clock tower boomed the signal for students to head to their common rooms for the night and Hermione went to find Draco. When she found him, he actually deemed her worthy of a smirk and not a grimace. His cheeks were rosy and his breath was sweet as he whistled down the hallway, a spring in his step. He had obviously been drinking.

She took a calming breath, understanding that the Slytherins were having a celebration and most likely smuggled in alcohol, and she would let it slide tonight. However desperately she wished to scold him on his poor example, she instead remained pleasant. However, it surprised her that Draco had taken part in the festivities of his house. Over the past few weeks he had seemed very distant with the fellow Slytherins. Then again, his best friend was the captain of the Slytherin team, so it made perfect sense why Draco would celebrate.

"You're surprisingly cheerful tonight."

"Well, Slytherin won, didn't they?" Draco said, twirling his wand in his fingers. "How's your lover?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your secret admirer?" he reminded her teasingly and then laughed at her expression. "Honestly, I'm surprised someone would waste their time. He must be a clod. Unless you sent the note to yourself. Oh, dear, Granger. _Tell me_ you didn't."

"How'd you know about that?" she gasped.

"Please, Granger. You and your little friends couldn't shut up about it."

"That's hardly any of your business!" she flared, her cheeks flushing. "Ginny was right; you were eavesdropping!"

She had no idea why his annoying prying bothered her so much; he had done it before. Perhaps it was the fact that the secret admirer note had already embarrassed her enough and now that Draco Malfoy knew about it, that made matter ten times worse.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Granger," he guffawed loudly. "You were sitting right there, being all star struck and gooey-eyed. No matter how much anyone wished they could ignore you, they wouldn't have been able to__—oof__."

Draco, failing to realize that they were about to descend a flight of stairs, tripped rather ungracefully. Had it not been for Hermione's quick reflexes and careful eyes, he would have tumbled down the entire flight of stairs.

Though she should have been irritated with him for his comments, she found herself straining not to giggle. She hardly accepted intoxication—not that he was any more than a little bit tipsy__—__but he was alarmingly funny when he was drunk, she noticed. He seemed less frustrated, less burdened, as if the alcohol had numbed his pain and irritation and made him a snarky, witty, and flirtatious fool. It might have been upsetting to her any other day, but not today.

Suddenly, a mass of orange fur darted past them a several feet ahead, stopping them in their tracks.

"Was that...a cat?" Draco wondered slowly, squinting into the dimly lit corridor.

Hermione swallowed painfully and tugged at the collar of her shirt, recognizing the bundle of orange fur immediately. She had let Crookshanks out that morning to feed and had completely forgotten about him up until that moment. Feeling incredibly stupid, she went to collect her playful cat and scooped him into her arms, scolding him lightly for wandering.

"How many times must I remind you that the castle is not your playground?" she whispered to the cat, who pawed gently at her sleeve.

"You've got a cat?" Draco laughed, staring at the bundle of fur.

"I've had him since third year."

_He's known me all these years and never once noticed I had a cat?_

"He's a bit ugly."

"He wasn't treated right," she defended, instinctively pressing Crookshanks closer to her chest.

"You know you've got to keep an eye on that thing, right?" Draco reminded her imperiously. "You can't just let it wander the halls."

"I know that," she snapped. "He must've gotten out."

He reached a pale hand out toward Crookshanks casually and stroked his fur caressingly. Slowly, the cat lost his inhibitions and, to Hermione's horror, began to take a timid liking to the blond Slytherin. He even licked Draco's thumb, purring slightly.

"That's remarkable. He hates practically everyone," Hermione commented, taken aback.

"Well, I've got a cat of my own, so maybe he can sense there's no hostility."

She blinked rapidly in surprise. "You've got a cat?"

"Her name is Cleopatra and she's a royal pain in the arse."

Hermione was about to scold his language when she suddenly realized he had been joking. Draco Malfoy was _joking_ with her. She realized the punch line a half second later and snickered at his comment, despite herself.

"Took you long enough, didn't it?" he teased.

They returned Crookshanks to their dorm before wandering outside to walk the grounds together. The moon was bright and luminous, shining peacefully down upon them. Their teasing began to die down as they made their way across the grassy paths, throwing jabs at one another playfully. By the time they had reached the lake, they were completely quiet, an odd awkwardness rising between them, as if they were both starting to realize the brief new direction of their relationship.

"Granger," Draco muttered, waving her over to a nearby tree.

"What is it?" she asked and he motioned for her to lower her voice. She came to stop beside him, hiding behind the large tree.

"Look," he simply whispered, pointing off into the darkness.

"I don't see anything," she said, peering past the threshold of trees.

"By the edge of the lake," he sighed in frustration, as if she were stupid.

Hermione scanned the pebbled bank of the lake and her eyebrows shot up. Close to the murky black water stood a figure. Upon closer observation, Hermione recognized the tall and toned features of Pieter Kartrick. The tip of his wand was lit and he moved it back and forth in a delicate, almost undetectable motion. His other hand was placed in front of him, as if feeling for something.

"What is he doing?" Hermione whispered, returning to Draco.

"No idea," Draco responded.

"Evidently obstructing curfew," Hermione sighed tiredly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I've seen him down here on more than one occasion. It seems I'm not the only one that likes this place," Draco said quietly.

This surprised Hermione and she turned to look at him. In the moonlight his hair looked like the wing of a dove.

"You often come here, then?" she ventured.

"When I get the chance."

Both of them poked their heads around the tree to spy on the mysterious transfer student.

"Romilda Vane seems to have taken quite the liking to him," Hermione said. "You don't suppose she's out here, too, do you?"

"Can't be," Draco protested. "I saw her heading to the Gryffindor tower on my way to meet you. "Anyway, I don't see the attraction."

"Nor do I, but to each their own, I suppose."

"Okay, Granger," Draco said. "Prepare your schoolmarm weapons. We're going in."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at this but followed him anyway until they were standing near the bank. Pieter seemed unaware of their approaching presence and so they continued onward. He crept like a predatory panther across the pebbled ground, his boots leaving wet impressions upon the rocks. A twig snapped from under Draco's shoe, alerting Pieter of their presence.

Abruptly, Pieter swung around, driving his wand into the snowy flesh of Draco's throat.

"Oi! What in the bleeding hell?" Draco yelped.

Instinctively, Hermione had withdrawn her own wand, pointing it carefully at Pieter. His onyx eyes briefly fell on her, scoping her whole form, before returning to Draco with undeniable hatred.

"Lower your wand, Pieter," Hermione commanded calmly.

His eyes continued to glare blackly into Draco's so fiercely that Hermione wondered if he'd even heard her.

"Get your fucking wand out of my face," Draco ground out, reciprocating Pieter's dark glare. Slowly, the two of them drifted closer to each other, both daring the other to make the first move. Draco's thin fingers twitched toward his pocket.

"Pieter," she warned, reaching to touch him.

At her hand upon his cloak, he seemed to awake from whatever dark stupor he had been in. He roughly shook her off.

"You're out past curfew," Draco snarled, jabbing his index finger into Pieter's chest. "Fifteen points from Slytherin. Now get to bed."

Wand still pointed at him, Hermione carefully watched him leave the premises and swallowed.

"Are you okay?" she asked Draco and he scoffed.

"He's a little git," he snapped. "Where does he get off acting like that?"

"To be fair, you scared him," Hermione reasoned. "_And_ you are drunk."

"Like hell I am!" Draco cawed and leapt up onto a nearby boulder. "If I'm so bloody _drunk_, I couldn't do this!"

"Draco, don't!" Hermione exclaimed. "You'll only hurt yourself."

He attempted to balance himself upon he boulder, but he swayed dangerously and teetered toward the edge.

"Draco!" she hollered as he rolled off the boulder and landed in the shallow pool of the lake.

Hermione rushed to his side, sloshing through the mucky water. She helped him to his unstable feet, realizing that the alcohol was fully corrupting his system and crossing the line from more than a little tipsy to drunk. He was certainly a sight to see, covered in stray pebbles, mud, and dripping like a wet dog.

"Oh, damn," he grumbled, rubbing his elbow. "That hurt."

Hermione bit her tongue, fighting back the urge to laugh hysterically.

"You're freezing," she said and helped him onto the bank where she performed a mild drying spell.

"Granger, for the next time I do something incredibly dimwitted, I want you to do me one favor in particularly."

"Sure," she agreed warily.

"Remind me _not_ to do that again."

She let out a laugh and nodded. She helped him the rest of the way to the castle, despite his furtive protests, and lowered him onto the couch in their common room moments later.

"Come on, I'll help you upstairs," Hermione suggested, steering him toward the staircase.

Once upstairs, Hermione deposited him on his bed and he plopped back with an audible "_oof"._

"It's bloody hot in here," Draco announced loudly, forcing Hermione to flinch.

"Lower your voice," she reminded him.

"It's so _hot_," Draco whispered exaggeratedly, breaking out into a fit of giggles as Hermione rolled her eyes. The alcohol was definitely taking effect.

Suddenly, Draco tore off his shirt, leaving him bare chested and damp from the mild drying spell.

"What are you doing?" Hermione gasped, flinging a hand over her eyes.

"I'm hot." He said this like it was the simplest thing in the world to understand and then snickered. "Get it? I'm hot."

Again, Hermione rolled her eyes, just as Draco grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, causing her to stumble into the foot of the bed and capsize on top of him. His skin was moist and hot, unnaturally so. The air in the room was close and stuffy, that was for certain, but he should not have been burning up so much. She swallowed, mere inches from his face, their bodies pressed together in a flourish of heat. Clearing her throat, she pushed off of him.

"You're burning up," she stated dryly, shifting so that she could press her hand to his forehead. "I think you might be coming down with something."

"So, what, you're a Healer, now?" he snorted, snatching her hand away from his face to rest on his chest. His eyes drooped, his body relaxing in a random swarm of fatigue. She swallowed, watching as he traced his fingers over her wrists.

"Are those from Bellatrix, too?"

She jumped at his voice, snatching her arm from his grip like he'd burned her.

"What are you doing?" she snarled.

He seemed to come out of whatever fatigue lined, drunken stupor he had been in, his eyes widening a bit as she savagely pushed him away.

"What?" he garbled.

"That is absolutely none of your business. Why would you even ask me something like that?" she demanded, almost to the point of hysterics.

Hot and furious tears threatened to break free from her ocher eyes and she whipped away from him, striding over to his nightstand. A picture of him and his parents rested on the wooden desk, the glass cracked down the middle like a strike of lightning, as if it'd been broken somehow.

"I'm sorry I didn't do anything to stop her," he suddenly said.

"What are you talking about?"

She rounded on him and glared into his glazed over gray eyes.

"My aunt. I'm sorry I didn't stop her when she did those things to you. I've never been able to forgive myself for never having the courage to help you," Draco whispered. "I've never been the courageous type."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. She swallowed, knives slicing her throat. She clenched her teeth against the memory, reminding herself that Bellatrix was dead, it was all in the past.

"I've had worse," Hermione whispered, barely audible, and turned away again. "Besides, I never blamed you, Draco."

"But I just stood there," he argued. "I never liked you, but I never would have wished that on you."

"I know."

He blinked, his alcohol buzzed brain trying to wrap his mind around her words. "You know? How could you?"

"You were never a horrible person, Draco. We all do things we aren't proud of," Hermione said, sitting down on the bed. It creaked under her weight and Draco shifted away from her. "There was nothing you could have done. You couldn't have stopped her even if you tried. You and your family would have been deemed traitorous and killed. Despite everything you might think, the war needed you. You did what you needed to do, just as I did what I needed to. I understand that now. You had to grit your teeth and turn your head to save your family. If anything, I find you to be more courageous than me in that aspect. I wouldn't have been able to do that."

"I had nightmares of you screaming all the time after it happened," he admitted darkly. "Sometimes I still do."

"I think that is normal," Hermione whispered. "I had nightmares all summer long. I couldn't escape."

"They make you feel trapped, like there's no way to hide your past," he agreed.

"And no one understands it but you," Hermione continued.

"Well, at least you had your little team to be there for you. I had no one. I wasn't allowed to show fear, to show remorse."

"And you think I could show those emotions?" Hermione scoffed, not caring anymore that she suddenly wasn't talking about Bellatrix, but of the man who scarred her for life. "I had to be strong. I had to be brave. I wasn't allowed to _break._I was a pariah in my own house. After the war, when I found my parents and gave them their memories back, they couldn't trust me. My parents didn't know what to do with me so Harry took me in. He was the only one who understood, but he couldn't even help me. I didn't want to be helped. Eventually, Ron gave up on me and ended things. Do you know what it's like, when someone you love so much just throws in the towel when you need them the most, and you can't even tell them that much?"

"Actually, Granger, it might surprise you that I _do _know how that feels," he spat. "Everyone in my family does. Unlike you, I've always been given up on, we all have. It doesn't matter what we think, it doesn't matter if I got pardoned. Everyone gave up on me because I'm fucked up and no one knows how to handle it. My own father__—God_, _why am I even saying this stuff to you? I must be off my arse drunk."

"You know, it's okay to let people in," Hermione reminded him.

"Really? What good does that do?" he snapped. "You let people in and they leave. You let people in and they get scared because they didn't want to see who you really are. You let people in and they sell you out. You let people in and you might as well be setting yourself up to die."

"You're being horribly pessimistic," she said in return.

"Oh, like you're able to trust people now?" he laughed blackly. "After everything we've faced, and after all you just said, you're really going to stand there being a hypocritical good gracious angel when you feel the exact same way as I do? When you couldn't even let your own boyfriend in? And you wonder why he left you. Why are _you_ so afraid, huh? You aren't perfect, Granger. No one is. So stop pretending to be, stop trying to find the good in people. You'll only dig up the bad, and like everyone else in this bloody godforsaken world, you'll run away because it is too much to handle."

"If there is anything in this life I've learned," Hermione stated in a low, dangerous voice, rising from the bed, "is that _nothing_ is too much to handle. When you start using that as an excuse to back down, you give up. And I will _never_ give up."

"Sure you won't," Draco mumbled.

Hermione's hand paused, reaching for the doorknob.

"I wouldn't give up on you," Hermione whispered. "And neither should you."

And with that, she slammed the door, leaving him alone to his drunken, messed up thoughts.


	11. Dust

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N:** Thank so much to all that read and told me their thoughts. The plot builds! Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Ten<span>_

_Dust_

* * *

><p><em>A darker dream<br>That has no ending__—__  
>That's so unreal<br>You believe that it's true!  
>A dance of death<br>Out of a mystery tale__—__  
>The frightened princess<br>Doesn't know what to do!_

_"A Dangerous Game"_—_Jekyll & Hyde (The Musical)_

* * *

><p>September was coming to an end and with the blooming of October only days away, the leaves were rapidly changing their jackets of green for those of rusty autumn colors. The mornings and nights grew colder, the afternoons more pleasant. However, the schoolwork and Head responsibilities were gradually starting to drown Draco.; not to mention his dreams were becoming more and more bizarre, preventing him from getting adequate sleep. He felt he hardly had time to breathe, much less have time to unwind.<p>

And it was that sole reason that Draco was finally spending his Saturday afternoon with his friends. However, just as he was headed out of his room and down the stairs, Hermione emerged from the bathroom. For a brief, accidental moment their eyes locked before he cast them away, avoiding her gaze and continuing on his way.

"Hello, Draco," she greeted, as she did every single time they came in contact with each other.

Stiffly, without so much as a nod in her direction, he very clearly ignored her and passed the couch. She sniffed in agitation and let out a sigh.

"Really? You're _still _ignoring me?" she snapped.

Yes, he was, and he was very much enjoying it. It seemed the more he ignored her, the more amusing her reactions were and the less prying and annoying she was. Draco had been ignoring her ever since the night of Slytherin's victory party, which Blaise had forced him to go to, where he had gotten drunk. The events of what followed were still a bit hazy, but Draco understood that he had said far too much to Hermione that night, said things he'd never wished _anyone_ to hear about or know about. Things that he hadn't even wanted to admit to himself.

He woke up the next day with a wicked hangover and suddenly the events from the night before began to dawn on him. He couldn't face her, not after everything. He had hoped she would just let it go, but since their self disclosures with one another, she seemed set on the two of them being best pals. And he was most definitely _not_ interested in sharing any valuable part of his life with her.

"Don't you think you're being a bit childish?" she scoffed, placing her hands on her hips.

Again, he ignored her, pushing open the portrait hole. Just as the portrait hole was closing, he heard her screech, "Honestly, just grow up already!" before it slammed shut between them. He rushed through the corridors, eager to get as far away from her as possible. The breezy autumn wind licked his face welcomingly as he tore across the grass toward Blaise, Pansy, Astoria, and Theo. The grounds were alive and blustering with students, all equally excited to be enjoying a fresh, beautiful fall day.

"Hey," Pansy greeted with a smile, giving him a hug. "Pull up a patch of grass."

Draco laughed, sitting down beneath a tall tree next to Blaise.

"You were just in time for Astoria and Theo's big study fest," snickered Blaise and Draco furrowed his brow.

"Huh?"

"Oh, they're being stupid today," Astoria explained with a good natured smile. "Theo and I are just working on our Transifguration project together."

"Oh, yeah. We need to hop on that soon, Draco," said Blaise.

Draco groaned. "Right. What did we want to do again?"

Pansy scoffed, gaping at the pair of them. "Really, boys? You haven't got a foundation for your project yet?"

They shrugged guiltily.

"It's been three and a half weeks since Lavinia gave us that project! It's due_ October 12_. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but that's almost a_ week_ away."

"Thanks, Mum," grumbled Blaise. "Anyway, I'm not too worried about it. Draco will dream something up."

Both Blaise and Draco exchanged looks and guffawed.

"Inside jokes, lovely," Pansy mumbled to Astoria. "I just love it when they do this."

Astoria patted her hand and then got to her feet. "I've got to get going. I promised Jess that I'd go visit her in the hospital wing today. She broke her leg from that stupid trick stair."

"Alright, see you later," Pansy said, waving her off. "Give Jess my love."

"Who is Jess?" asked Draco.

"She's our friend, more of Astoria's, but I'm on good terms with her. She transferred to Durmstrang in our fifth year after Umbridge took over and Astoria finally talked her into coming back to Hogwarts," Pansy explained.

"Is she attractive?" asked Blaise bluntly, earning a whack on his head from Pansy.

"Not answering that. I don't want you preying on her," Pansy chuckled, turning to Draco. "By the way, she _is_ single, Draco. In case you're interested. Although, Astoria might still be interested in you, so I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Why does Draco get dibs?" Blaise complained. "And since when does Astoria like Draco again?"

"I said _might_," Pansy clarified_._

At this, Theo sighed heavily, threw down his quill, and stood up. Pansy glanced up at him in confusion.

"Theo?"

"There are way too many people out here," he said quietly. "It's noisy. I can't concentrate. I'm just going to go to the library."

"Do you want me to come with you?" asked Pansy.

"I need to focus on this essay."

Pansy frowned, narrowing her indigo eyes at her boyfriend.

"You could just say no."

"Pansy, don't do this. Not tonight," he sighed and took off toward the castle.

She called after him, visibly upset. "Do I at least get a kiss?"

For a moment, Draco thought he would just walk off, but he turned back around and kissed her swiftly before leaving.

"What the hell was that all about?" Blaise wondered.

"Really, what has his knickers in a twist?" Draco said, watching Theo disappear into the castle.

"He's been acting distant lately, more so than usual."

She swallowed roughly and cast her eyes to the leafy ground. When she lifted them to look at Draco after she'd collected herself, he noticed her bright indigo eyes were muted to half their usual luster. An unpleasant frown gathered the ends of her delicate mouth downward.

Draco nearly cringed. He'd seen that look before, that empty, vacant expression. She was numbing her pain, which meant her pain was much more serious than he had imagined. She had given him that look many times in the past and he had always managed to bring her out of it, but she had been so happy in the past few months he didn't know how to go about it, especially when he was even more emotionally ruined than she.

"You know, Draco," Blaise said, interrupting their saddened connection, "I worry about you."

"Whatever for?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Do you realize how long it has been since you've had a woman on your arm?" Blaise said and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again," he muttered and Pansy patted his hand.

"I know you don't want to here it, but he brings up a good point," Pansy told him. "You've taken to sulking around; it's very unsettling."

"Half the girls I dated was for reputation causes," Draco scoffed, waving their comments off. "And I don't give a rat's ass about my reputation anymore, obviously."

"I'm not saying you have to, Draco," Pansy pressed. "But don't you think it's about time you give someone a shot—"

"I don't _have_ time to date anyone, Pansy. Not with all my advanced classes and Head duties and Granger constantly breathing down my neck." He took a deep breath and then added, "Unless you are suggesting I romance Granger, because she's the only girl I'm going to be around anymore for a while."

Blaise's jaw dropped several fractions before he burst into a large, mischievous grin. "You should totally date Granger."

Pansy swatted him roughly on the back of his head.

"Absolutely not," Pansy growled. "He's being an idiot. No fool, even in his right mind, would ever date that hag. Especially not Draco. He would never be able to get in her pants anyway; she's such a prude."

Blaise giggled hysterically. "I'm only suggesting that Draco try to seduce her. He did say she would be the only girl he'd be interested in."

"I did _not_ say that!" Draco cawed, pinching Blaise hard. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm not being stupid; she's gotten very attractive," Blaise argued and then turned to Pansy. "And what happened to your 'I don't hate Granger' facade?"

"I don't hate her," Pansy persisted grimly. "I strongly dislike everything about her, but I do not hate her. I hated the Dark Lord. There's a drastic difference between the two."

"And she is only _mildly_ upset about the fact that she now has to be Granger's partner," Draco teased, poking her in the ribs, earning a dark scowl from Pansy.

"How's that going, by the way?" wondered Blaise and Pansy shrugged.

"Haven't talked to her much except for in class. Binns hasn't really specified much about anything, only that we have to turn our thesis in before Christmas break."

"So you've still got a while, then," Draco pointed out and she nodded.

The remainder of the day consisted of Pansy listing off ideas for Blaise and Draco to put together for their Transfiguration project. By the time Draco and Blaise had actually come to an agreement on what they were going to do, the sun was dipping behind the castle, casting shadows on the ground.

"I'm starving," Pansy announced and stood up. "You two coming?"

Blaise and Draco trailed after Pansy, eager to put some food in their stomachs. But before Draco could sit and devour his dinner, he was detained by a certain thorn in his side.

"What do you want, Granger?" he sighed.

She exchanged a look with Neville Longbottom, who bristled a few paces away. Directly next to her, Ginny Weasley wrinkled her nose at him, glaring at him heatedly.

"Believe me, I don't want to speak to you either right now, but it's Head business," Hermione stated blandly.

"Isn't it always?" he muttered.

"I came to tell you that we're in charge of spreading the word and arranging the decor for the dance. I suggest that we tell the prefects so that they can help us, since it was their idea and we'll need all the assistance we can get to pull this off."

"Splendid. You can leave now," Draco said sarcastically, waving her away.

"One more thing, if you please," Hermione said, grabbing his arm tightly. "The ball will be held in December, the week before Christmas break—"

Before Hermione could finish her sentence, Ginny Weasley let out a hiss of angry air, her eyes narrowing into furious slits that could counter Lord Voldemort's.

"We've got company," Ginny growled, elbowing Hermione in the side and nodding toward the approaching figure.

Romilda Vane came to a stop in front of Hermione, halting mid-greet to glare stonily at the redheaded Weasley before returning her gaze to the Head Girl.

"I've been asked to give this to you," Romilda explained, holding out an envelope.

"From whom?" Hermione wondered.

"I don't know," Romilda answered, blowing a pink bubble until her gum popped loudly in Hermione's face. "I was in the dungeons and I couldn't see him. He came up from behind me, asked me to give this to you, and when I turned around was gone."

"Well, thanks."

Romilda walked away, heading back to the table to sit next to her equally annoying minx of a friend, Gina.

"Weird," commented Neville quietly.

"I think it's kind of romantic, if you like that whole mysterious slightly creepy aspect of romance," said Ginny and then her eyes hardened. "Unless, of course, I'm right about who the sender is, in which case I don't find it romantic at all."

Draco was confused by this and watched as Hermione blushed and quickly deposited the note in her pocket, much to Ginny's dismay.

"Oh, look at that, right on schedule," Ginny muttered, gesturing to the figure who had just walked through the Great Hall's entrance. Draco noticed it was Pieter Kartrick. "Suppose he was in the dungeons?"

"What, you think that Dark Arts worshiper wants to be with _her_?" Draco snickered. "Oh, that's really funny, Red."

"Shut up, ferret," snapped Ginny. "This conversation has no use for you."

Draco held up his hands in mock surrender and walked away, sitting next to Blaise and Pansy. However, they were still in earshot and Draco could not help but overhear their conversation.

"Please open the envelope, Hermione. Please," begged Ginny.

He supposed that Hermione had conceded because he heard a rustling and then she gasped.

"What is it?" Neville asked.

"It's a necklace," Hermione said delicately.

Draco couldn't resist turning to look. In her hands she held what looked to be like an elegant Victorian choker with dark ribboning and a crystal heart dangling from it. When she put the necklace on, it embraced her porcelain neck like a sensual caress and he swallowed despite himself.

"What does the note say?" asked Neville.

"'Nothing less than royalty deserves such a jewel. For my..."

She trailed off.

"For my, what?" egged Neville. "Hermione?"

"Princess," Hermione continued breathlessly. "For my princess. All my love, Me'."

Draco dared a glance at her once more and saw that she had paled significantly, hastily discarding the note in her pocket, though she left the necklace on, fiddling with it.

"What's wrong?" asked Ginny.

"Nothing," Hermione said, her smile oddly forced. Then, as if by an afterthought, she unclasped the choker from her neck and placed it in the depths of her robes.

After the majority of the Great Hall had exited the dining tables for the evening, Hermione's friends asked her to play some games with them in Gryffindor Tower, Draco heard Hermione politely decline, saying she was too tired and just needed to relax, which struck Draco as odd. When did Hermione Granger ever need to relax? When was she _ever_ too tired to do anything?

Neville, after stating his displeasure, eventually conceded and left the girls alone.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" wondered the redhead.

"I really am just tired," Hermione responded.

"Okay, I don't believe you but I'll leave it alone," Ginny said. "But I'm not letting you off that easy. You obviously need some girl time."

"Well, I suppose we can go back to the Head dorm," Hermione suggested quietly. "Draco usually stays out until his rounds anyhow, so I'm sure he won't have a problem with you being around. We can finish our project."

Ginny groaned. "Of course."

Draco then rose from the table, bidding his friends goodbye, and started outside. He figured it would do him some good to have some alone time, to think, outside in the cool night air. He had at least thirty minutes before his Head duties were to start. Lost in his thoughts, he was startled but not surprised when he realized where his feet had expertly taken him—the lake.

Easing himself down on the pebbles, he leaned up against the massive boulder, letting his head rest against its smooth and soothing skin. The cool breeze settled in around him, relaxing him until all the muscles in his body were like jelly. It was in this condition that Draco suddenly drifted off to sleep.

But in sleep there was no relief, for his strange dreams had once again returned. This was different, however. The dream was darker, more eerie. He was in his house back home, yet all his furniture except his bed and his armchair was gone. His house was vacant, yet he still remained there. A dimming fire crackled in the fireplace.

The sleeve of his white oxford shirt was rolled back to reveal his Dark Mark, which he stared down at broodingly. Abruptly, the door to his chamber swung open, clattering against the stone wall with a bang. A dark figure enveloped in a black hooded robe emerged.

"A little present for you," the figure hissed, reaching behind them to retrieve a cowering woman.

The hooded figure threw the woman roughly to the ground. He noticed she was badly bruised and was bound tightly with her wrists behind her back. The figure then turned to Draco, throwing a wand in his face.

"Your wand," the robed figure said. "You have one use for it and that is all. Once you are done with her it will be retrieved from you."

Once the figure was gone, the woman began to sob. He went to her, but she flinched at his touch. He turned her over and through her matted hair, she burned bright into his memory.

She looked gloriously wicked, her hair the tint of golden honey. Her eyes, flecked with ocher and topaz, gleamed in the moonlight pouring in through his open window.

"Granger?" he gasped.

Without a moment's hesitation, he unbound her with his wand and helped her to her feet. She was took weak and collapsed, so instead he laid her next to him on his bed, putting distance between them.

She glared upon him with a fire which seemed to burn straight to his soul. The look on her face was both wicked and divine and he felt a pang as he looked into her eyes. There was a mercilessness in her eyes which held him captivated, like prey under a predators glare.

"I should have known you would never change," she said and her voice was like a dagger slicing right through his skin. "You are just like your pathetic father. A slave to darkness and weakness. Are you the one who is going to kill me, then?"

"Kill you?" he wondered.

"Someone is trying to kill me, Draco," she continued. "I'm simply wondering if it will be you."

"I'm not going to kill you," Draco replied.

Her eyes gazed warily at his forearm and the mark which would always be branded there.

"I'm not that person."

"If you aren't here to kill me, then what are you here for?" she asked dryly. "To protect me?"

"I'm no protector."

She sighed, staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

"Then, if you aren't going to kill me and you aren't going to help me, I suppose I'll have to kill you," she said and eyed his wand.

He extended it toward her.

"Do it," he dared her. "End my bloody torment and all the lies. I'm defenseless. You have my wand. There is no way out for me. Kill me now while you have the chance and leave this place."

"I don't understand," she stuttered. "You want me to kill you?"

"You already are, just by being here, reminding me of the things I can't put behind me. I don't know what you want from me," he hissed.

"I want you to help me," Hermione stated.

"Help you how?"

"Find out who is trying to kill me and I'll leave you alone."

"What if I don't want you to leave me alone?" he whispered. "I'm tired of being alone."

The wand dropped only a fraction from her grip, but it was enough for him to see that she chose to trust him. Overwhelmed by emotion, the two of them sprung toward each other, her hands clenching in fists around his hair, his lips crashing into hers. It was a kiss that healed everything between them and sealed his fate.

"Draco, he's coming," she gasped, breaking their embrace and turning toward the door. "Help me. Draco, help me!"

Thunder shook overhead, rattling the windowpane. She trembled in his arms, her eyes boring into his, afraid. The door swung open and Hermione shrieked. A flash of light ended her life, vaporizing her body until the very skin on her bones was ripped off of her. As she crumbled in his arms, she whispered hollowly, "Help...me..."

And then crumpled to dust in his arms.

Draco jolted awake, sputtering and shouting. It was pouring rain now and thunder clapped overhead. He jumped away from the boulder, drenched from head to toe and covered in mud and sweat.

Whatever peace sleep had offered him, Draco now knew it was only a farce. He sprinted away from the lake, away from that place which now held him bound. Bound to her. As an afterthought, he checked his watch, noting in horror that it was two hours after Head Duty patrols. He knew he would have to face her wrath, knew there was hell to pay. As he sprinted toward the castle, he glanced up toward the tower where the Head dorms would be and through the rain sloshed window, he saw a figure gazing down at him.

He couldn't see her face, but he knew it was her.


	12. Wrath

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Eleven<span>_

_Wrath_

* * *

><p><em>Long lost words whisper slowly to me<em>  
><em>Still can't find what keeps me here<em>  
><em>When all this time I've been so hollow inside<em>  
><em>I know you're still there<em>  
><em>Watching me, wanting me<em>  
><em>I can feel you pull me down<em>  
><em>Fearing you, loving you<em>  
><em>I won't let you pull me down<em>

_"Haunted"___—Evanescence____

* * *

><p>"<em>Sing for me, Mudblood<em>."

"No," Hermione whimpered, bathing herself in the shadows to remain hidden.

She was in a labyrinth, unaware of her surrounding. Darkness was her enemy, yet it was her only way of disappearing from the one she feared. The one who was after her.

"_Run and hide, but I will always find you_."

The curtains of darkness were drawn back, revealing the hooded figure. A spidery hand shot out from under the cloak, strapping itself around her neck like a bear trap, nails digging in sharply.

"_Did you miss me, Mudblood_?" he hissed and his death's lips embraced hers before he snapped her neck with a _crunch_.

"Hermione!"

"_No_!" she hollered, flinging herself upwards.

All her joints were stiff as peanut brittle. Her eyes were so tightly squeezed shut that they hurt. Her heart was pounding and thundering in her chest, which heaved up and down as she wheezed painfully. Sweat trickled down her neck, causing her to shiver. She wrapped her arms around herself securely, forcing the images away, but they kept coming back.

"Get off!" Hermione shrieked, flinging the arms of the other person away forcefully.

"Hermione, calm down. It's just me," Ginny soothed, stroking her hair.

Hermione tried to say something, but the words froze and nested deep inside her throat. She sobbed harder into Ginny's shoulder until she could finally pull herself together and break away from the nightmare. When her eyes opened, she was alarmed. Ginny was staring at her, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Hermione felt herself begin to shake.

"Shh, shh, calm down. It's over. It was just a dream," Ginny comforted, rubbing her back.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered hoarsely to Ginny, still in her pajamas. "Did I wake you?"

When Ginny made no sign to answer her and continued to comfort her, she knew she had awoken her friend.

"I thought they'd gotten better," Ginny said, concerned.

Hermione's eyes flickered towards the window, frowning as she realized the sky was still slightly dark, barely even dusk. Hermione shook Ginny off and stood up uneasily. Ginny made to grab at her, knowing for a fact that Hermione was not okay, but Hermione waved her off. She needed to get out. She grabbed her clothes and made a beeline for the door. Deciding it was best that she not use the communal bathrooms after her episode and not wanting to hear people discuss her mental state, she hurried out the portrait hole and down the corridor. She arrived alone, thankfully, at the Prefect's Bathroom.

"Pickled Pears," she whispered to the portrait and slipped quickly inside.

No one was there, to her relief. She rested her palms on the sink basin and took in gulps of deep air. When she looked up at the mirror, she nearly catapulted backward. But, realizing it was only her reflection and not some random stranger, she released a puff of air instead, nearly smacking herself at how preposterous she was being.

"Get a grip," she scolded herself.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her ocher colored eyes were tired, underscored with dark purple circles and littered with angry red veins. Her skin was pasty, as were her white lips, which were so parched they were bleeding in some spots, like she'd bitten them savagely whilst trying to escape her nightmare.

Rapturously, she untied the knot at the back of her head, letting her hair fall to the middle of her back. It was lank and limp, damp from sweat.

Hastily turning on the water in the tub, she allowed the water to soak up and froth with warm, colorful bubbles before peeling off her pajamas and slowly easing into the behemoth bathtub, welcoming the warmth as she immersed herself in a cloud of pink, purple, blue, and green. Bubbles gurgled all around her and she swam amongst them, letting the water mull over her as she relaxed her muscles. Within moments she could see color returning to her skin.

As she sat there, she found herself remembering her nightmare and had to wonder why, all of a sudden, she was having nightmares again. It was the second one this month.

She mulled over the dates in her head and realized with a start that it was October twelfth. She and Ginny had stayed up all night making the last final touches to their project and Ginny, long after curfew, crashed alongside Hermione on her grand queen sized mattress.

"I must be going crazy," she whispered to nothing.

She could feel the tears brimming in her eyes and blinked hastily, forcing them down. She was _not_ going to fall victim to a nightmare.

"It's over. It was only a dream," she ground out, repeating the mantra she had learned to say every time she had a nightmare over the summer. She'd finally, gratefully, gotten to the point where she didn't have to use it anymore.

"I won't let this control me. I am strong," she repeated over and over again until she her heart was no longer racing.

That night was _gone_. It was _done_ and _over_. So, why did the memory of it all keep coming back to haunt her?

_Be fair,_ the logical voice in her mind scolded her, _it was only a few months ago. You went through serious trauma. You're doing remarkably well._

She shut her eyes and sank low into the bubbly water, enveloped in its comforting warmth.

After her bath, Hermione wrapped a towel around her dripping body and made her way over to the sink where her clothes rested. She had just grabbed them when the door creaked open. Startled, Hermione's heart slammed to a halt, making screeching noises across her ribcage. Snapshots from her nightmare crashed back into her finally calm brain and, fearing the worst, she spun around, only to see Blaise Zabini walk in, tall and confident with a towel hanging over his shoulder. He was whistling pleasantly, as if he had no care in the world—that was, until he saw Hermione. His jaw dropped and he started, eyes as large as saucers.

"Granger!" he exclaimed, covering his eyes, much like Harry when he'd found her in the bath at Grimmuald Place.

"Get out!" Hermione shouted, clutching the towel ever closer to her, but he made no movement.

He slowly removed his hand from his eyes and Hermione flushed as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"You don't look half bad," he mentioned, scoping up and down her body.

"_Out_!" she bellowed and chucked a bar of soap at his head.

It narrowly missed his left ear and he ducked slightly, muttering a small, "Nice arm," before exiting.

Hermione could strangle him. If she wasn't so mortified by what had just happened, she would have docked him points, but she was too preoccupied with everything that was buzzing around in her brain. Hermione quickly dried off and and made some slight adjustments to her sullen, tired face. With a flick of her wand, her hair was dry and wavy. She left it as it was, grabbed her bag, and exited the bathroom. There were students awake now, most of which were heading to breakfast.

Hermione entered the Great Hall and was instantly spotted by Ginny. She whisked over to the table and squeezed into the space between her and Neville.

"Are you feeling better?" Neville wondered and after Hermione cocked her head to the side, he clarified. "Ginny told me you had a bad dream."

Hermione shot Ginny a glare before replacing it with a small, barely manageable, smile.

"That's not important; don't worry about it." Hermione waved him off. "However, if you are interested in a bit of gossip, you will never believe who walked in on me in the bathroom."

Hermione dived into her tale, earning several laughs and exclamations.

"Hermione, all seriousness now, are you sure you are feeling better?" Ginny wondered.

"Yes, I'm fine____—___"_

"Were you ill?" a voice asked from a few seats down the table.

Hermione hadn't noticed him come in or sit down. How long had he been there? She was surprised to see Pieter Kartrick staring at her in interest.

"Yes, but I'm all right now," Hermione assured him slowly, uncertain of why he was suddenly interested in her health, and after a long moment of him staring intensely at her, he nodded, turning back to his breakfast.

"What was _that_?" Fay Dunbar demanded, leaning in toward Hermione. Ginny was glaring at him mutely.

"What?"

"Pieter Kartrick just _spoke_. That's _weird_, remember?" Neville told her and Fay nodded.

"All of you are so absurd," Hermione sighed, shaking her head despite her urge to agree with them. Her stomach was now too unsettled to manage squeezing in another morsel. "He's nice. He's just____—___"_

"Strange," Fay declared.

"Don't forget creepy," Ginny muttered.

"And prone to bouts of anger," Neville finished.

"Now, where on earth did you hear _that_ one?" Hermione scoffed at him.

"Well, he's had several angry encounters with the Slytherin prefects," Neville explained. "I heard three fourth years discussing how upset he had gotten when they ran into them in the hallway."

"That's because _they_ were discussing _him_," Ginny clarified, "and besides, everyone has angry encounters with the Slytherin prefects."

Despite herself, Hermione's thoughts turned back to the night she and Draco had witnessed Pieter snooping around the lakeside, out well past curfew.

"I'm surprised you are defending him," Neville said. "I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him, I just don't have a good feeling about him," Ginny sniffed. "And I will not sit here and spread rumors about some creepy kid who might be sending my best friend love notes or not. Everything surrounding him is hearsay, and though I don't necessarily like him, I don't think it is fair that everyone keeps picking on him."

They all looked toward Pieter again.

Beside his breakfast plate sat the sketchbook and charcoal stub Hermione had seen him with in the library. His elbow sat upon it, protecting it from all those nearby.

"What do you reckon he's always drawing in there?" Neville wondered.

"Dead bodies, most likely," a sixth year, who had been listening in on their conversation, muttered.

"That was hardly appropriate!" Hermione scolded, wagging her finger at the boy in distaste.

"Well, _I_ know what he's been drawing," came a haughty, sultry voice to their left.

Romilda Vane was sitting next to the sixth year boy, looking confident and secretive.

"Oh, really?" Ginny countered. "How, may I ask? Were you stalking him like you stalk all men that befall your unfortunate fancy?"

Romilda simmered, her eyes narrowing.

"No, actually. I was in the library trying to find a book for my project and I passed his table. He was trying very hard to hide behind his sketchbook from someone in front of him, but I managed to catch a glimpse of what he was drawing," she explained softly, daring to peek a glance in Pieter's direction, only to see him yawn and rise from the table, sketchbook in hand.

"Well, go on," urged Fay welcomingly.

"He was drawing you," Romilda declared, her eyes narrowing to hateful slits as they fell upon Hermione. "I have to say, I'm surprised you became his muse that day, what with your ugly features and all, but there was no one else sitting across from him in the library that day. I suppose he had to work with what he had."

Hermione's jaw dropped and she felt Ginny's nails digging into her leg.

That day, in the library, when Hermione had seen Pieter sketching in his pad, when she'd smiled at him and he'd hastily left—he had been drawing_ her!____  
><em>__

_"_Well, he obviously found her more appealing than you," Ginny spat.

"I was going to offer my abilities, but when I came back he was gone," she sighed and glared at Hermione again. "Thanks for scaring him away, Granger."

"Or maybe he just spotted your saggy, fat arse and bolted from the utter hideousness that you are," Ginny snarled. "Now, go away."

Turning to Hermione, Ginny raised an eyebrow. "_Now_ do you believe me?"

Whatever appetite Hermione had chance of gaining back was entirely depleted. She headed out the doors and set off toward her morning classes, looking up at the gray sky through the high paned windows in the corridor. It was beautiful, even if it was gloomy. The sun would occasionally peek out shyly, sparkling the stone with dots of sunshine.

As she wandered through the corridors of Hogwarts, Hermione found her thoughts traveling back to Pieter. It _had_ been strange that Pieter had talked today, especially in front of others. Even the teachers never asked Pieter questions anymore, because he hated talking so much.

Despite how much Hermione defended him, Pieter did give her an uncomfortable feeling, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"_Oof!_"

Hermione fell to the ground, slamming into the stairwell of the dungeons with a force greater than she had been expecting. The wind soared out from her lungs, puffing out in an audible _whoosh_. She stared up into a pair of gloomy gray eyes, much like the rainy sky outside. They widened until there was no mistaking the emotion practically spewing out of the usually guarded and unemotional eyes she was so familiar with____—fear.____

"You—Granger____,___" Malfoy stuttered, eyes widening further, giving him the appearance of a very pale, gray-eyed Dobby._

Both of them then realized their position. Draco Malfoy was lying heavily on top of her. The longer he remained on her, the longer the pressure in her empty lungs grew. He seemed to be having trouble breathing, too.

"Were you planning on crushing me to death or are you ever going to get off of me?" Hermione gasped desperately.

"What?" he wondered. "I couldn't hear you."

"_Get off_!" Hermione shrieked, shoving him.

It seemed to wake him up out of whatever world he had been in. He shot to his feet in alarm, brushing his shirt, as if trying to rid himself of a dirty substance. He shook his head furiously, muttering something under his breath in a rather fast way. His eyes were wild and he looked faintly ill.

Hermione climbed up so that she was kneeling and reached towards something on the stone. Her fingers curled along the length of the very ring she had returned to Draco in Transfiguration almost a month ago. It was glowing a bright ruby color.

"Did you drop____—___?" Hermione started._

"Don't touch it!" Draco snarled, ripping the ring from her grasp. He placed it back on his finger tightly, as if trying to make sure it would never fall off again.

"It's red again," he muttered, frustrated. "What does it _mean_?"

He shot her a look quickly, frowned, and set off down the dungeons like a bat out of hell.

Hermione blinked several times, still trying to register everything that had happened. She understood that Slytherins were possessive, but that was a little much.

"Has he gone completely mental?" Hermione whispered.

"I suppose it all depends on one's definition of mental," said a charming voice.

Hermione turned around in haste, but she calmed once she saw Professor Thorne, grinning teasingly.

"Oh, Professor, you startled me!" Hermione laughed, smiling.

"My apologies, Hermione. That was not my intention in the slightest," he chuckled lowly, gently patting her shoulder. "I was on my way to grab some supplies from Professor Slughorn."

"Supplies for what, may I ask?" she wondered curiously.

His amber eyes twinkled.

"A little secret between you and me," he whispered, leaning in closer to her. "He's been teaching me how to improve my potion-making; I've never been very good at it. It's become a little hobby of mine as of late."

"Really? You don't strike me as the type," Hermione shared and he shrugged.

"Ah, well, it was meant to be a secret. I trust you can keep that for me?"

His breath on her face was warm and smelled of honey. She smiled and he patted her hand.

"I should get going before classes start, but since I ran into you, I was hoping I might have a word."

"Of course," Hermione complied.

"I was wondering if you would be interested in tutoring," Professor Thorne asked.

Hermione blinked. "Me? Tutor?"

"You're the most intelligent student in this school," he stated seriously and Hermione flushed. "I was only wondering if you would be interested in helping one of my struggling students. He's almost as awful as me when it comes to Potions, and if he continues to fail, he may have to drop his only Advanced class, which is my class. I never like to see a student have to give up what they are passionate about because of something they are struggling with."

"Of course, I would love to help," Hermione said. "I'm rather prone to helping others with their studies, even if it isn't wanted."

She thought of Harry and Ron and her heart stung at all the good memories.

"Oh, delightful. He's quite shy, a bit of a loner, but he's a good kid. He mentioned he doesn't like to be around people and that others haven't been that kind to him," Professor Thorne sighed. "So, when he came to me about this concern, I told him I had the perfect person in mind. When I mentioned it to him, he didn't seem to have any qualms."

Hermione nodded, understanding. "That's fine. I don't have a problem with that. A lot of students are that way about their grades."

"Great, that's great," he said excitedly. "His name is Pieter Kartrick. He's new and painfully unsociable____—___I think that's most of the reason why he's not doing well in Potions, since they have a lot of partnerships in that class. He just needs some extra help and he seems comfortable with you. I think it's perfect. Would you be willing to tutor him?"_

Hermione found herself hesitating and felt immediately awful for it.

"Of course, Professor," Hermione answered after a while, thinking about how ironic it all was, her tutoring Pieter.

"Thank you, Hermione. It means a lot," Professor Thorne said gratefully, grinning his handsome grin. His amber eyes sparkled and Hermione couldn't help but smile back.

"Have a nice morning, Professor Thorne," Hermione called after him and headed down to the dungeons.

She couldn't help feeling a certain sinking heaviness in her stomach, an uncomfortable tugging that always seemed to overtake her whenever Pieter Kartrick was mentioned.

* * *

><p>"Draco Malfoy and Pieter Kartrick," announced Professor Thorne. "Please take your places on one of the mats and wait for further instruction."<p>

Hermione and Ginny waited in anticipation for Thorne to place their partners. For the first time this year, they were going to be dueling and the whole class was abuzz in excitement.

"Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger," Professor Thorne called.

Hermione groaned audibly. From somewhere across the classroom, Pansy Parkinson said something cross and foul. The indigo eyed girl came to stand next to Hermione, scowling wretchedly.

"Why must the teachers insist upon partnering you and me together?" she snapped.

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps it has something to do with the whole "house unity" thing that McGonagall is pushing this year," said Ginny from beside Hermione. "You and Hermione being partnered, our tables being put next to each other, Malfoy and Hermione being Head Boy and Girl. Put two and two together, Parkinson."

"Shut up," Pansy barked, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Ginny Weasley and Romilda Vane."

"You were saying?" Pansy quipped snidely.

"Bollocks," growled Ginny, exchanging glances with Hermione. "If I kill her, spring me from Azkaban, will you?"

Hermione and Pansy took their places upon the purple dueling mats. Hermione searched for Ginny, spotting her and Romilda several mats away.

"Wands at the ready," instructed Thorne.

Hermione and Pansy both lifted their wands to their noses.

"Make your bows," Thorne continued. "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Kartrick, you are not first years. I know by fact that you both know how to bow; do so now or take no credit for the day. Good, now, at the count of three—one, two, three!"

Pansy made the first blow, but Hermione was more than ready, of course. Pansy, though she was not as good as Hermione by far, did an exceptionally good job and gave Hermione a few challenging spells to deal with.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Kartrick," warned Professor Thorne. "Those are becoming more Dark than I would like. Tone it down or you will be disqualified."

Hermione had no time to witness the scene and continued dueling Pansy. Several rounds continued, by which the losers of the first round separated into a different section of the room, where they were then partnered with those of their skill level.

Hermione and Pansy separated and Hermione waited for her next partner, groaning when she was partnered with Romilda's giggly friend, Gina. Surprisingly, she was actually quite the gifted dueler, but Hermione beat her out.

"Mr. Kartrick! That is _quite_ enough!"

Hermione jumped and both she and Gina dropped their wands. Beside her, Ginny and Draco Malfoy paused to look down the mats.

"Miss Parkinson, are you alright?" Professor Thorne asked, coming to Pansy's aid.

"What the hell happened?" Draco ground out. "What'd he do to Pansy?"

"I don't know," Ginny answered, straining to see. "I think she's unconscious."

Hermione was at Draco's side before he could move, grabbing his arm to restrain him.

"Don't be stupid," Hermione snarled in his ear.

"Granger, get off me this instant," he growled.

"No. Professor Thorne is taking care of the situation. Keep your head."

He shook her off, but he stayed where he was. Pansy was now coming to and she clutched her bleeding nose, dazed as she stumbled to her feet.

"You—You _bastard_. You sick little fuck," she hollered, swinging out to punch him and falling to her knees. "What did he do to me? Why can't I hear anything?"

Professor Thorne restrained her, muttering some kind of counter curse. He muttered a spell, pointing his wand to her temple until she eventually stopped struggling and fell limply into his arms.

"Will someone please help Miss Parkinson to the hospital wing?" he asked, strained and obviously distressed.

"We will," Ginny offered, pushing Draco forward.

"Very well. Now do not levitate her. That will only make it worse, trust me," Thorne allowed and handed the limp girl over to Draco and Ginny. "Where did Mr. Kartrick go?"

The door slammed in response.

"Damn," Thorne said and set off in a run toward the door. "Class dismissed!"

The class began to pool out, having mixed feeling about the situation that got them out of class fifteen minutes early.

"I've got her," Draco said.

"So have I," Ginny countered. "You think I'll be mad enough to let you out there without someone after someone just cursed your best friend? Very funny, Malfoy."

They set off in the direction of the hospital wing, leaving Hermione behind.

"I wonder why Kartrick used Dark Magic on Parkinson," a student gossiped.

"Maybe she pissed him off; she has a habit of doing that to people," said another.

"I don't know. Remember, Thorne already got onto him and Malfoy for using Dark Magic on the other person."

"Well, I know Draco, and he would never use Dark Magic unless another person used it on him first."

"I don't know if I believe _that."_

They trailed off down the corridor, their conversation dissipating as they did so. Hermione went ahead and walked to her Transfiguration class, sitting on the stone floor until the classroom filled out. Once inside, she explained the absences of Draco and Ginny to Professor Lavinia and took her seat.

"Wait, what happened to Pansy?" asked Blaise Zabini, his teasing nature from that morning sapped by the concern for his friend.

"She was cursed in Defense. Draco and Ginny took her to the hospital wing," Hermione explained quietly and watched as the handsome Italian lost all his color.

He was unreasonably fidgety until Draco and Ginny walked into class ten minutes late and took their seats.

"How is she?" asked Hermione.

"She'll be fine," answered Ginny. "Luckily, the curse wasn't major and didn't hit her full blown. She'll be back to normal by this evening."

In the corner, Blaise and Draco were discussing something—most likely the Pansy situation—heatedly. Class flew by quite fast as everyone showed off their projects. Ginny and Hermione received a very good grade, which tied with Draco and Blaise's project.

Slightly miffed, Ginny turned to the pair after class and said, "Just how did you two come up with something like that?"

"Draco is a dreamer," responded Blaise with a wink at Hermione, nudging Draco in the ribs. "He thinks of all sorts of things when he's asleep."

Hermione and Ginny, confused, sauntered down to lunch, where they filled Neville and Hannah in on everything that had happened during Defense.

"Why weren't you in class today, Neville?" asked Ginny.

"Oh, Hannah and I turned our project in early. I had a meeting with Professor Sprout that I needed to attend."

"That's so awful about Pansy," Hannah said, shaking her head. "I wonder why he cursed her."

"Anger problems," coughed Neville, earning a glare from Hermione and Ginny both.

The rest of her classes swam by in a blur and she found herself walking toward the library to take her mind off of everything. Once she turned the corner to the corridor of the library, she noticed an odd scene before her. Draco Malfoy was standing outside the library, a look of confusion on his face. He seemed to be debating on whether to go inside or not.

"Draco, what are you doing?" asked Hermione, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He jumped far more than he should when he realized he was not alone. He'd been jittery and odd all day. Without so much as a goodbye, he bolted away from her and disappeared around the corner she'd just come from. Sighing, she opened the door and walked into the library.

Hermione sat down in her usual table next to the window, propped her book bag on the table, and leafed through her copy of _Wuthering Heights_. Just as she was reaching the climax of the novel, something began to materialize inside her book. She gasped, grabbing the note, and searched for any sign of a sender. The only people she saw were Madame Pince and two Ravenclaw girls sitting three tables away.

Swallowing nervously, she opened the note and read.

* * *

><p><em>Hermione—<em>

_"I have no time for idle cares  
>Though gazing on the unquiet sky.<br>And when an hour with calmer wings  
>Its down upon my spirit flings-<br>That little time with lyre and rhyme  
>To while away-forbidden things!<br>My heart would feel to be a crime  
>Unless it trembled with the strings."<em>

_—Me_

_P.S. Did you like my gift?_

* * *

><p>It was a snippet of Edgar Allan Poe again, this time from his poem "Romance". Something about the note put her on edge. She didn't like the idea of her being watched. Before, the notes had all appeared when she was in public, with witnesses; now it appeared when she was by herself. It didn't help that at that moment, Pieter Kartrick emerged from behind the bookcases, heading toward the exit.<p>

She was beginning to wonder if Ginny was right about Pieter. Either way, she couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. It didn't make much sense, but she had a feeling something was about to go terribly wrong.


	13. Sickness

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** I would love to hear from my loyal readers some more. Thanks for all the reviews. I'm so excited for this fanfiction. It's going to get SO good.

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Twelve<span>_

_Sickness_

* * *

><p><em>Comatose, <em>_I'll never wake up without an overdose of you_

_I don't wanna live, I don't wanna breathe_

_Unless I feel you next to me_

_You take the pain I feel_

_(Waking up to you never felt so real)_

_I don't wanna sleep, I don't wanna dream_

_'Cause my dreams don't comfort me_

_The way you make me fee__l_

_(Waking up to you never felt so real)_

_"Comatose"___—Skillet____

* * *

><p>Draco practically flew away from the library's entrance in his haste to be rid of the girl that haunted his dreams. He couldn't understand why Hermione would think it so odd to see him standing outside the library, but then again it probably was an odd sight to her; she had spent so many years inside that dusty cavern, she probably knew when each and every person arrived there. Draco preferred to study by the lake when the weather permitted, otherwise he holed up in the stairwell leading up to the astronomy tower—a bittersweet place for him after the death of Dumbledore.<p>

He had been debating on whether or not to go inside the library to find answers to his dreams and the infernal ring which sat upon his finger, smirking as occasional rays of sunlight drifted lazily through the clouds and bounced off its emerald exterior. Then, of course, Hermione Granger had to interfere, as she always seemed to.

"I'll visit the library another day," he grumbled as he stepped out onto the grassy lawn.

He tore down the path leading to the Quidditch pitch and took a seat in the empty stands. Below, he spotted Astoria and Blaise throwing the quaffle at each other.

_Real productive Quidditch practice_, he thought sarcastically, amused. Astoria caught sight of him and waved at him excitedly, issuing Blaise to turn round on his broom and do the same. Blaise, under the impression that Draco needed a good dose of Quidditch, had made him promise to swing by the Slytherin practice, but the weather was growing cooler as the evening approached and Draco was beginning to grow restless.

"Practice is over, everybody!" Blaise announced, swinging his broom around to dart up toward Draco. "Hey, mate. I'm glad you came."

Below, Astoria and Theo dismounted their brooms and began to head off the pitch with the others. Theo threw back his head and let out a laugh, which shocked Draco—he had never truly heard Theo laugh—and swung his arm around Astoria's shoulder as they entered the dressing rooms. Draco couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the two of them, a protective heat bubbling in his chest.

"Where's Panse?" he asked Blaise. "I'm surprised she isn't at practice. Doesn't she usually come watch Theo?"

Blaise's eyes fell to the ground briefly and he swallowed.

"They let her out of the hospital wing a few hours ago. She's all better now, of course."

He paused, rolling his eyes to look up at the clouds above them. "She's off somewhere with Geneva Jugson."

Draco started. "Geneva Jugson? Why's she hanging around with her? Geneva is a haughty wench."

"They have to do their Potions project together," explained Blaise. "She's not at all happy about it."

"I'd imagine not," Draco agreed. "Have you noticed anything odd about Pansy lately?"

"You mean how depressed she's been recently? How we hardly ever see her except meals, classes, and free periods?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, I've noticed," Blaise stated, glaring blackly at where Theo had disappeared. "And I think it has everything to do with that fop she calls a boyfriend."

"Think they're going to end things?" Draco wondered.

"I hope so," Blaise muttered darkly and Draco gazed at him in shock.

"You _hope_ so?" he repeated.

Blaise sighed, raking an olive hand through his hair.

"I just hate seeing Pansy so unhappy all the time. It kills me."

They sat on the pitch for a few more minutes, silence bouncing off of them into the chilling air.

"How have_ you_ been doing?" Blaise asked, nudging him. "Any more dreams?"

Draco stared down at his ring.

"I had one," he whispered. "It wasn't like the others."

"How do mean?"

"It was darker, blurrier," Draco explained, remembering his dream. "I was back at my house, but it had been deserted by my family and taken over by Death Eaters, I think. And Granger was there."

Blaise made a guttural noise and turned to him.

"Like, as a Death Eater?" he laughed and then sobered at the look on Draco's face.

"No. She was a captive," he said. "They had been torturing her. And this one Death Eater, at least I think it was a Death Eater—he was wearing a hooded robe—threw her into my room and told me to do away with her. It was as if I were a captive there—they'd taken my wand and only gave it back to me to do away with Granger."

"Symbolism," Blaise said and Draco quirked an eyebrow at him.

"What, are you going to interpret my dream now?"

"If you want me to," Blaise offered. "It may help."

"Fine," Draco gave in. "Go ahead and work your Zabini magic."

They shared a smirk before Blaise got down to business.

"One of your worst fears is to go home and have it be Dark Headquarters again. And with no family there, you had no reason to stay, but they needed you so they stripped you of your wand. Another one of your worst fears—being powerless and having no control."

Draco swallowed. "You, uh, got all of that from my dream?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I'm very good at interpreting hidden meanings in dreams, Draco. Have you _met_ my mother?"

Blaise's mother, though their family would never reveal this, was a half-seer, meaning she could interpret meanings and symbols from visions and dreams, but could never predict fully what was to happen.

"Anyway," Draco continued, eager to hear his take on the rest of the dream. "She asked if I was going to be the one to kill her, as if she was expecting it. I told her no and she asked if I was instead there to protect her, which I said no. Then, she said that if I wasn't there to kill her or protect her that she should just kill me so she could escape. So, in my dream, I gave her the wand and told her to kill me, but she didn't, and then—"

"And then," Blaise prompted, gesturing for him to continue.

Draco bent his head downward and sighed.

"We kissed."

"_What!"_

Blaise jumped to his feet. "You had a sex dream about _Granger_?"

"No!" Draco shouted, punching his friend in the arm. "We _kissed_. That's _it._"

"Oh, that's too rich," Blaise guffawed, nearly rolling over in his hysterical laughing fit.

Draco seethed. "That's not even the half of it, you foul git."

"Oh, I don't think I want to know anymore," Blaise cackled. "Actually, on second thought, she does have a great body. Perhaps I would like to know the other half of your dream."

Draco glared at him. "She was murdered."

Blaise's cackling stopped short and his breath hitched.

"You must be one horrible kisser," Blaise attempted to joke, but then saw that Draco was very serious and stopped. "You mean to tell me you dreamt of killing Granger?"

"_I_ didn't kill her," Draco snapped.

"So, you didn't kill her. What did?"

"The guy in the hooded robe," Draco sighed. "Granger told me she was going to die and to help her. And then the guy came in and cast a curse on her and she died."

He flinched.

"Died how, Draco? I can't really interpret your dream if you don't give me something to work with," Blaise said.

"All her skin was ripped off her body and she turned to dust," he answered gravely. "Then, I woke up."

They were silent for quite some time after that.

"Draco, this is bad," Blaise suddenly said.

"Why? It was just a dream."

"No, Draco," sighed Blaise, shaking his head. "Since you got that ring you have not had one dream that hasn't come true or predicted something. You never used to remember your dreams until you got this ring. I'm just concerned now, because up until this point, your dreams and predictions have come true. The last time you dreamt something like this, Mitchell Gorde got crushed by a bludger. And you didn't even _see_ that happening in your dream. And now you just predicted Hermione Granger's death."

Despite himself and how much he wanted to deny it, Draco felt a cold chill sweep over his body, and it wasn't due to the cool breeze.

"So, what? Granger's going to get her skin ripped off and disintegrate into _dust?"_

"Not necessarily. Visionary dreams can be tricky to decipher. They are meant to be hard to read and are so full of inner emotions that the dreamer doesn't even realize they have or feel or fear. The dream connects components of the dreamer's life to the events which will happen in the future, and obviously this ring is the cause of it."

"When did you get so smart?" scoffed Draco.

"I actually enjoyed Divination, unlike you who, if I remember right, failed and slept through the class. My mother brought me up in this sort of thing, which is why I believed you when you told me about the ring and how it predicted the game. But this ring is dangerous, Draco. Its power is very strong and honestly, I think its power is only growing stronger the more you wear it and the more dreams you channel through it."

Draco swallowed.

"What does this mean?"

"Well, for starters, I see several components in your dream," Blaise continued. "One, the appearance of what you think might be a Death Eater in your house and no family. That tells me that you fear the Dark returning and keeping you bound in the place you feel the most safe. Without your family, you feel scared and trapped and alone. With the Dark being in your house, you do not feel secure or safe. Loss of security, loss of home—this tells me that in the future you are going to be in life-threatening situations and something will happen to your family life."

Draco choked, flustered, his rational brain hating what Blaise was deciphering. But he couldn't deny the truth to Blaise's words, the sense from his explanations. Blaise could give his mother a run for her money, if he wanted.

"And then, Granger," Blaise said, staring at him. "She's obviously a big part in your life right now, so it makes sense why she has shown up in almost all of your dreams so far. But the kiss, that can only mean one thing."

"Don't you dare," Draco growled.

"You are attracted to Granger," Blaise said and before Draco could cut him off he continued. "In the dream, both of you are scared and emotionally messed up and you share a kiss. You are attracted, even if you don't realize it, to Hermione Granger. This one is a bit unclear, so I could be wrong, but I think something is going to happen to Granger that will bring the two of you together."

"And what is that?" scoffed Draco callously, unreasonably defensive and angry, and then he stood up. "This is ridiculous. I'm not sitting through anymore of this rubbish."

"Might I remind you that you asked me for my interpretation," Blaise declared.

"Well, it was just a stupid dream," Draco snapped. "It doesn't mean anything."

He began to stalk off.

"You don't have the right to say that anymore, Draco," called out Blaise. "You gave up that right when your prediction nearly killed Mitchell Gorde."

Draco spun around to confront him, but Blaise jumped in.

"You are the one who wears the ring and has the dreams and it is now _your_ responsibility to decipher these dreams before they happen so that other people don't get hurt like Mitchell Gorde!"

Draco flared.

"That wasn't my fault!"

"But it will be, Draco," warned Blaise. "You can't be childish about this anymore. The ring obviously chose you for a reason."

"This _ring_," Draco snarled, "is a filthy piece of shit, just like the man that gave it to me."

Draco, in his fury, tore off the ring from his finger, and tossed it to Blaise.

"There," he snapped. "Since you are the almighty dream interpreter, the ring is now _your_ responsibility."

"It didn't pick me," Blaise protested quietly.

"If it picked me, it made a stupid mistake," he laughed darkly. "I don't want anything to do with predictions of the future. I don't want that responsibility. I never asked for this. I'm done."

He turned around and walked away.

"Draco!" shouted Blaise, but he was already gone.

Fuming, Draco found himself minutes later in the owlry. In his slot, he found a letter from his mother and suddenly, the emotional damn broke inside of him. He sank to the ground, clutching the letter as he heaved silent and dry sobs, realizing just how much he missed his mother. He wanted to go home and leave everything here behind, but he knew the instant he went home, the look on his father's face would be enough to silence him forever.

He tore open the letter.

* * *

><p><em>Dearest Draco,<em>

_Why have I not heard from you? _

_I'm very concerned. _

_How is school? How are your grades?_

_I'm sure you are very busy being Head Boy, but I worry about you._

_Please write me back soon._

_Love,_

_Mum._

* * *

><p>Draco felt horrible. Narcissa Malfoy was usually very patient with him and not at all clingy. She knew how much he hated writing letters and usually let him make the first letter, but apparently something had caused Draco's mother to send him the first one. He'd been so caught up in the mess around him, he'd forgotten his mother.<p>

He quickly penned her a letter.

* * *

><p><em>Mum,<em>

_No need to worry. I'm fine._

_School's been crazy. _

_Hermione Granger is Head Girl. _

_McGonagall is trying to "unite" the houses._

_How's everything at home?_

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_Draco._

* * *

><p>He folded the letter into a square and tied it to an owl's leg, sending it off into the night. He checked his mail slot for anything else and finding nothing, slipped his mother's letter into his pocket and walked down the stairs.<p>

He stopped short halfway down the stairwell inside the owlry. Listening closely, he followed the sound. As he approached, the choking sound turned into wracking sobs. Female sobs.

Very familiar sobs.

He turned the corner, finding her huddled up next to her mail slot with her head buried in her hands, her body shaking. She didn't hear him approach, so she jumped when his arms circled around her.

"Pansy," he cooed. "What's going on with you?"

She couldn't form the words and so she simply cried into his chest, clutching him as she had so many times before. He hated seeing her cry. After she calmed down, she lay emotionally exhausted in his arms, sniffing.

"I had sex with Theo," Pansy choked out.

"Uh, that's, um," Draco stuttered, unable to find the words. "Today?"

His mind flashed back to earlier at the Quidditch pitch, watching Theo and Astoria exit the pitch, arm in arm and laughing happily.

"Beginning of term," she corrected.

He had absolutely no idea what to say, not understanding why she was telling him this or why it was relevant to her crying.

"Do you regret it?" he asked finally, trying to comprehend why she was crying about this fact.

She nodded.

"God, I feel so stupid," she sniffed. "He's the first one that actually meant something to me."

Draco nodded, remembering all of Pansy's one night stands back when she and him had been "dating" for their reputation. Back when Pansy was depressed and lost, and Draco was just an idiotic prat following in his father's footsteps.

"What happened?" he asked her quietly, brushing the hair from her face.

"When I was in the hospital wing, Madame Promfrey treated me and asked me some questions. I've been throwing up a lot lately and haven't been feeling well," Pansy said. "So, she said she'd run some tests to see if I had a bug or something. As protocol, she also ran a pregnancy test."

She fell silent and Draco swallowed painfully, not believing his ears.

"Did you—I mean, are you—?"

"Pregnant?" she finished for him, then shrugged. "She told me to come back and see the results tomorrow and that it is very likely, with my symptoms and the way the potion is turning color, that I may be pregnant."

Pansy coughed, and this brought on a new bout of fresh sobs.

"Did you use protection?" he asked.

"There are always accidents," Pansy sniffled, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Are you going to tell Theo?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"Pansy, he needs to know—"

"I don't want him to leave me if I am," she whispered brokenly.

"You really think he'd just abandon you?"

"He's been so distant lately, it is so hard to tell. I don't want him to stay with me, if I am pregnant, just because he feels obligated to. I just love him so much."

"I know," he soothed.

"What if I'm pregnant, Draco?" she gasped, sobbing hysterically now. "What do I tell my mother? That I ended up just like her, knocked up by some arse who never stuck around?"

"Have you told Blaise?" Draco asked.

She swallowed heavily and shook her head again.

"I don't want him to know," she whispered.

"He's really worried about you, Pansy," he said.

"I know, but I really just can't handle it right now. Please, don't tell him."

Draco nodded, promising her that he wouldn't. He left out the part that he wasn't all too happy with Blaise at the moment, figuring that Pansy didn't need to hear his drama added on hers. Slowly, the sun set and they left. Draco dropped her off at the Slytherin dorms.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"I'll be down here again for rounds," he told her. "If you need me, come out and we can talk more."

He left her, winding and twisting up the stairs until he found himself, again, standing outside the library. He glared down at the space where his ring once sat and sighed. Wrenching open the doors to the library, he stalked inside, determined to find some answers about the ring that was ruining his life.

He didn't find anything, not even after asking Madame Pince, who told him to look at the old books in the back in the Restricted Section. Defeated, emotionally exhausted, and disappointed, Draco sank into a chair of one of the tables in the back and rested his head on the table. As his headache began to ebb, he unexpectedly crashed from his exhaustion and leapt into another dream.

In his dream, he was still in the library and it was unnaturally dim inside. Madame Pince was nowhere to be seen and he had no way of getting into the Restricted Section, which was very problematic since he needed to find more answers about his ring.

"_Draco_."

Draco whipped around, trying to place the voice. He squinted through the dim light, glaring up at the half-lit chandeliers.

"_Draco_."

He looked about him again, but no one was to be seen. The library looked somewhat ominous and the ghostly voice was only adding to the eerie factors. He took a step toward the voice to follow it. It was undeniably female and very familiar, and it lulled him forward like a siren's song, intoxicating and irresistible. He nearly tripped right into the doors of the Restricted Section and frowned. The voice was coming from inside.

"_Come find me, Draco_."

But it was restricted and he had no key. Madame Pince was nowhere to be found. There was no way in.

"_Aren't you a wizard_?" the voice taunted.

Draco raised his wand in response to the voice, but he knew that a simple spell wasn't going to open the gates to the Restricted Section. When it did, he sprang back in surprise, watching in amazement as they clicked open and slid to the side, allowing him entrance. He took a step forward and, casting a look over his shoulder, crept into the dark section of the library. There were no lights in this section, all but for the light of a flickering candle several paces ahead. The humming resumed and he followed it, a strong, lethargic feeling enveloping his senses. It was getting very hot.

As he approached the light, a woman was sitting at the table, playing with the flame absentmindedly as she hummed, her honey eyes focused on a page out of _Hogwarts, A History_. When he arrived at the table, her eyes flickered toward him and she smiled up at him with her rosy lips.

"You know, there are a lot of things in this book about Hogwarts that no one knows about," she told him, shutting the book.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why am I here?"

"Because you want to be," she replied simply, standing up.

"But why do you keep bringing me to you?" he asked.

Her skirt was far too short, showing off far too much of her creamy skin. Her blouse was tighter than she normally wore it and several buttons had been unbuttoned, baring far too much of her cleavage.

"Because I need you," she said softly, tracing a delicate finger down his chest.

He shuddered and pulled away.

"For what?" he managed.

"I need you to help me," she said, advancing toward him. "Help me, Draco."

"With _what_?" he hissed, getting frustrated.

"Temper, temper," she chuckled and caressed his cheek softly. Her joking manner died with her next statement. "I'm going to die, Draco."

"_What_?" Draco said, eyes widening.

"I am going to die," she repeated, eyes flickering with tears.

"No, you aren't," he argued.

"You don't seem to keen on trying to save me," she told him, eyes flashing.

"What are you talking about?" he growled. "Stop playing games. I told you I'm no protector."

Her eyes flashed wickedly.

"Someone is going to hurt me. You know that, yet you won't do anything."

Something pulled within him and he reached out toward her hesitantly. She turned away.

"I'm going to die, Draco," she stated numbly, toying with her tie. "How do you feel about that?"

He wished she would stop fiddling with her clothes. It was driving him wild.

"I don't like it," he confessed and she turned toward him. "I really don't like it and I have no bloody idea why. I wish you'd stop saying such things."

"Do you want me to die, Draco?" she asked softly, cupping his cheek.

Slowly, he backed her into the bookcase.

"Never," he breathed, closing in.

"Then do something about it and save me," she breathed and pulled him to her.

Their lips crashed together in a lock of passion and desire. He shoved her against the bookcase roughly, causing it to quake. She snaked her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair. His hands ran up the surface of her body and she arched toward him, responding to his touch. He picked her up and she molded to him as he crashed her down on the table, the candle and books falling away in a forgotten cloud.

They both gasped, breaking for air as he trailed his mouth down her porcelain neck and she struggled with his tie.

"I'll show you what a dirty little mudblood I can be," she hissed seductively, winking at him.

Their lips met hungrily again and the sparks exploded inside them, coursing heat through their veins.

"Fire," she gasped, her hand clenching fistfuls of his hair. "Draco, fire."

And then he smelled the smoke. He lifted himself off of her, clutching her closely still, and looked around him in horror. The library was on fire, the forgotten candle's flame licking its way up toward Hermione's beautiful golden hair like a serpent's tongue. Her beautiful hair, like golden thread, was the first part of her to be swallowed by the flame. Then, slowly, it was her angelic face which was frozen in fear and helplessness. Then her torso and legs sprung to flame until her entire body was writhing in the orange fiery heat.

"Help me!" she screamed in agony and he reached for her desperately.

Just as he did, her body went limp,

"No!" he shouted despairingly, pain gripping every bone in his body.

He lurched through the flame and took her in his arms, weeping as the flames began to circle around him. She lay mutilated and ashen in his arms, only moments before as lovely as an angel. A sickness crept into his stomach as he gazed horrified down at the once beautiful girl who had begged him to save her. And he had been too stubborn. Too late.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded with the burned corpse. "Please. Don't die. Don't do this to me. Don't leave me like everyone else."

His pained cries lit up the library as he too was swallowed in the fire.

To his relief, when he woke up, he was no longer screaming. He was sweating, unreasonably hot though his body wracked with chills. He was still in the library, in the Restricted Section, but it was well lit and he sighed. Angrily, he stared down accusingly at his ring, only to notice it was no longer there.

His stomach dropped.

The ring was with Blaise. It was nowhere near him.

How the _hell_ did he just have one of those dreams, then?

Alarmed, he shot up and bolted out of the Restricted Section until he came to a stop at one of the bookshelves.

"I'll just put away these and I'll be right back," a voice called out. "Make sure to grab that table by the windows."

It was her.

"Draco!" she expressed, surprised as she nearly plowed right into him. "I didn't see you there."

He stared at her openly, his dream flashing back to him—the way her skirt sat a little too low on her hips and a little too high on her thighs, the way her shirt revealed too much of her bosom. He nearly retched. He'd just had a very twisted sexual librarian fantasy about Hermione Granger! What the hell was wrong with him?

He watched as she began putting away the tomes in her hands. As she stood on tip toe, her skirt began to ride up and he swallowed, eyes bugging.

"Blast," she muttered as the book crashed to the ground. "I hate being so short."

She promptly bent to retrieve it and Draco nearly fell over. He ran forward and dove behind another bookcase, sinking into one of the tables.

"Alright, I'm back."

Draco groaned. Could he not be rid of her?

"Sorry that took a little while," she apologized and there was a sound of a chair being pulled out. "So, should we get started, then?"

"I suppose."

Draco's face scrunched together. He knew that voice, but for a moment it was hard to place. He had never heard it speak until the boy the voice belonged to was shouting Dark curses at him.

_Why the hell is she in here with him at this hour?_

Draco took out one of the books from the shelf and peered through the space. Through the crack, he could make out Hermione's thin figure and sitting next to her was Pieter Kartrick. As the hour went on, Draco discovered several things. One, Hermione had been asked by Professor Thorne to tutor Pieter in potions. This made no sense to Draco, considering Thorne was not Potions Master. Two, Pieter was an "artist" and had a problem throughout the whole session with doodling in his sketchbook. Hermione tried to be patient with him in the beginning, but after a while she began to grow more irritated. Three, Pieter and Romilda Vane had a bit of a "thing", yet this made no sense to Draco either. He could see the way Kartrick looked at Hermione, as if she were the next course in a meal that had been kept from him through years of starvation.

It was a look that Draco had seen many times before through the eyes of many Death Eaters. Despite himself, he began to feel a bit protective of the honey haired thorn in his side. He didn't like the idea of her tutoring him. Not one bit.

After the hour was over, Hermione declared it was time for her to start her Head duties and bid Pieter goodnight. He said nothing, just stared after her before returning to his sketches. Though Draco strained to see the drawings, Pieter kept them well covered. Sighing, Draco rose to his feet and headed out the library.

In the hallway, he spotted Hermione conversing with Romilda Vane. The dark haired vixen handed over something to her, glancing behind her shoulder as she did so.

"Who gave this to you?" he heard Hermione ask.

Romilda sighed. "No one, really. I found it in my bag a few minutes ago. It was addressed to you."

Hermione looked suspicious. "So, you are telling me that you have no idea who snooped through your bag and placed a paper with my name inside of it?"

"That's what I'm telling you," Romilda snapped. "I came to give it to you because I had hoped you'd still be with Pieter so I would have an excuse to see him, but instead I caught you out here."

"Sorry to disappoint," Hermione said evenly. "Good evening, Romilda."

"Look, I know you are Pieter's tutor now, but don't let there be anything more than that happening. He's mine, got it?"

He watched Hermione roll her eyes and walk away, not even bothering to respond to Romilda. Draco started his Head duties, hoping to finish a tad early since he was still feeling a bit queasy from his dream. However, not much time had passed before he found himself on the floor of the Prefect's bathroom, throwing up into a porcelain basin.

Deciding a foamy bath would help with his upset stomach, Draco set a bath and began to wash himself, relaxing. He didn't expect to fall asleep for the second time that night.

In his dream, he was in a dark and unfamiliar bathroom. Only the light of a few floral scented candles washed over the room. Inside the antique bathtub lay Hermione Granger, her naked body covered in bubbles. Steam coiled upward around her and she gave a pleasant sigh. She obviously liked her baths pretty hot.

He swallowed, feeling a little invasive as he watched her. He wondered why she hadn't noticed him, why he couldn't move. It was almost as if he wasn't a participant in this dream, just a spectator.

Then, the door burst open and Hermione shrieked, water splashing over the basin. A hooded figure swept into the room with a knife raised ready.

"No, please!" Hermione cried, trying to escape the tub.

The hooded figure left no more time for pleas and brought the dagger down upon her, sinking it into the snow of her neck and ripping it over her larynx. Dark bubbles of liquid began to emerge like a flood from the wound in her neck and the openings of her mouth. She began to choke on her own blood.

Draco's stomach twisted. Why couldn't he look away?

He was forced to watch as the figure shoved Hermione's head under the foamy water, watching as steadily her limbs stopped flailing, the water turned bright red, and the girl he once used to tease in school drowned in her own blood.

Draco startled awake in a panic, his lung rushing with foamy water. Choking and sputtering, he swam to the surface of the large marble bath and gasped for air, retching.

_That's why they tell us not to fall asleep in the bath,_ he thought darkly.

Confused and frightened, Draco dried off and dressed quickly, deciding it would be an awfully long time before he took a bath in the Prefect's bathroom again.


	14. Encounters

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N:** Lucky number thirteen. Yes, folks, we've reached the ill fated thirteenth chapter. I wonder what will await us?

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Thirteen<span>_

_Encounters_

* * *

><p><em>I got a lot to say to you, yeah, I got a lot to say<em>

_I notice your eyes are always glued to me_

_You're keeping them here and it makes no sense at all_

_They taped over your mouth_

_Scribbled out the truth with their lies, y__eah, little spies_

_They taped over your mouth_

_Scribbled out the truth with their lies, y__eah, little spies_

_Crush, crush, crush_

_"Crushcrushcrush"_—_Paramore_

* * *

><p>Hermione was relieved when the final bell rang, issuing a flood of students out of their classrooms to enjoy a free period before dinner. Pansy and Hermione walked out of History of Magic side by side, both frowning in thought.<p>

"We should definitely start putting a dent in our project," Pansy sighed, casting a dark look at Hermione.

"I agree. We could do a little idea shopping in Hogsmeade. Our next trip is on Halloween," Hermione suggested.

Pansy squinted in the distance at Blaise and Astoria, who were waving at her expectantly.

"That could probably work," said Pansy, nodding in thought.

Hermione watched as Pansy's friends emerged closer through the throng of students. Behind them, Hermione spotted Romilda Vane and Pieter Kartrick, and to her shock, they were holding hands. Romilda seemed quite pleased with herself.

"That's a god-awful couple if there ever was one," Pansy scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the two of them.

Hermione said nothing but was sure her facial expression matched Pansy's almost exactly.

"Well, I was thinking I could meet you by the clock tower at eleven?" Hermione suggested, jumping back on track. "I mean, unless you wanted to go earlier."

"No, eleven is good."

Before Hermione could respond, Astoria engulfed Pansy in a hug. It was only for a split second, but Hermione could have sworn she'd seen Pansy flinch in displeasure before stiffly and barely returning the blonde's hug.

"Where's Draco?" wondered Pansy, disentangling herself from her shorter friend, barely giving her a second thought.

Astoria's head bowed ever so slightly in disappointment. It was obvious that Pansy was giving the girl the cold shoulder and Hermione figured they must've gotten into some kind of misunderstanding.

"Same place," Blaise responded gravely. "Promfrey is keeping him until later tonight."

Hermione startled next to Astoria. Pansy nodded, declaring she was going to visit him, and set off toward the infirmary.

"Is he in the hospital wing?" she asked, alarmed.

She had been frustrated that Draco hadn't shown up for their Head duties, but figured he had just gone back to avoiding her. However, he _hadn't_ been in their classes for three days straight, so maybe that drew a conclusion as to why.

As if only then noticing her, Blaise caught her eye and winked.

"Hey, Granger. Decided to put on some clothes today?"

She folded her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes.

"You really do have good aim, you know. You should consider Quidditch."

Hermione scoffed. "A fool's fancy."

"Do you really not know what's wrong with Draco?" Astoria whispered.

She shook her head. "What's wrong with him?"

"We don't really know," Blaise informed her. "He hasn't been sleeping at all and he's overwhelmed. He's got a lot going on and you're not really doing much by being such a nag all the time."

"Blaise!" Astoria scolded.

"It's true," Blaise rationalized. "You could ease up a bit on the lad, Granger. Be a little kind to him for a change. Anyway, he's been in the hospital wing for three days. Promfrey says he should be able to leave tonight, but we'll see how he's feeling."

"That's awful," Hermione said, feeling a knot form in her abdomen. "I wonder if I should go see him."

"He'd like that more than either of you know," Blaise said, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Before Hermione could decipher his meaning, he and Astoria bid her a good evening and disappeared down an adjoining hallway. Feeling unreasonably anxious, Hermione set off toward the infirmary. Once outside the infirmary doors, Hermione paused before going in. Madame Promfrey was talking to someone, her tone rather urgent.

"Perhaps you should step into my office," the nurse was saying.

"Don't sugar me up, Madame Promfrey," came a sharp snip of a voice that Hermione recognized almost immediately.

Pansy Parkinson.

"Tell me the results."

There was a muffled response and then a gasp.

"But—it's blue—that means—"

"The test is positive."

Hermione blinked, not comprehending. Wasn't Pansy supposed to be visiting Draco? What was this all about?

"I'm pregnant?" Pansy whispered.

Hermione blanched, covering her mouth so as not to gasp audibly and reveal herself.

"I'm afraid so."

"But this can't be happening," the indigo eyed girl argued. "What am I going to do?"

"There are several options," Madame Promfrey explained calmly. "We can talk to Minerva. The tests aren't always correct."

There was a snort of disbelief.

"Magic is never wrong."

"In cases like these, we can never be sure. Have you tried taking a Muggle pregnancy test?"

"A _Muggle_ preg—_No_! That's absolutely absurd."

"Every test is different, Miss Parkinson. There's still a chance that you aren't pregnant. Here, let's run another test this evening and you can come by tomorrow and we'll check again. In the meantime, I suggest you find a Muggle pregnancy test, just in case."

After several more scoffs, angry sobs, and hurried breaths, Pansy's footsteps clattered toward the doors. Hermione dove behind the large oak door, pressing herself against the wall. She waited until she was certain the dark haired Slytherin was far out of eyesight before coming out of her hiding place and entering the hospital wing.

The infirmary was empty except for one bed, where a blond Slytherin lay sleeping.

"Miss Granger," Madame Promfrey greeted, surprised. "I wasn't expecting you."

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione choked out, noticing how pale he seemed, how small. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Certainly," the nurse stated, smiling gently at her. "It's mostly just stress and a vulnerable immune system due to lack of sleep."

"Can I go see him?"

"I think he'd like that. He's been muttering your name all morning long."

"I'm sorry?" Hermione sputtered, but Madame Promfrey seemed not to hear her or otherwise wouldn't acknowledge her.

"I gave him a sleeping draught around seven this morning, so he should be waking up soon. He seems to be having the worst kind of nightmares."

"Nightmares?"

"Yes, he's been having them since the start of term, he told me. If it keeps up, I might even have reason to state he has chronic nightmares."

Hermione blinked, nibbling on her lip, wondering how that would feel. A nightmare every night, every time you shut your eyes. Her nightmares were bad enough when they popped up almost every month, but every night?

"That's serious."

Madame Promfrey disappeared into her office to attend to some "business" and Hermione took that moment to hurry to Draco's bedside and lower herself into the wooden chair beside his nightstand. After several minutes of staring wide-eyed and shocked at the blond boy, Hermione sat forward and grabbed his hand, not really understanding why. His ring was gone and in its place was a long scab along his knuckle, as if he'd ripped the ring off and some skin along with it.

"Hermione."

Again, she startled, but quickly relaxed when she realized he was still asleep. Something deep inside her stirred at the thought of him saying her name while he was sleeping and Hermione thought back to Madame Promfrey's conversation with her earlier.

"_He's been muttering your name all morning long."_

Just then, Draco's hand clutched hers tightly, his eyebrows knitted together, and he stopped breathing. Anxious, Hermione sat forward in her chair. The thrashing came almost the instant that his breathing returned. Not knowing what to do, her hand trembled out in front of her and fell lightly upon his sweaty cheek. She stroked his face softly, remembering how her father used to do this very same action whenever Hermione felt panicked at nighttime. She soothed him almost instantly and watched as he returned to peaceful slumber.

Her fingers lightly traced the dark circles under his eyes and the cold skin of his neck. He seemed so very troubled. It bothered her. And it bothered her even more that it bothered her.

When Draco finally woke, a full hour had passed. He peered at her in confusion, his eyes groggy and weak.

"I brought you some food," Hermione told him, motioning to the plate she'd brought up for him after she'd stopped by the Great Hall only a few minutes earlier to grab a quick bite. "I figured you might be hungry."

"Starving," he rasped, taking the plate from her grasp and placing it on his lap. "Thanks."

He stared at her for several seconds, as if trying to decipher if he was dreaming or not.

"What's going on with you?" she asked nervously, biting her lip.

"No idea."

She swallowed, knowing she shouldn't be surprised that he wasn't opening up to her. Still, she'd never seen him so weak before. As if noticing this, Draco sat up a little straighter, cleared his throat, and his emotionless mask fell back into place.

"You know what I do when I'm overly stressed?" Hermione asked, making conversation.

He snorted, rolling his eyes in a very annoyed manner.

"Go to the library?"

She smirked at his ability to still poke fun at her in his state.

"Other than that."

He was silent for quite a while, nibbling on a breadstick, before he finally met her gaze and his eyes softened ever so slightly.

"Tell me."

"I make myself a nice cup of spearmint tea," she shared with him.

He shivered in response.

"That sounds so good right now. Do you enjoy torturing me?" He glared playfully at her.

"That was not my intention, but now that you mention it..."

He scoffed at her, rolling his eyes and taking a rather hefty bite from his roast chicken.

"Granger, don't be an arse."

"What I meant to say was that I'd be happy to get you some sometime," Hermione offered.

"And where on earth would you find spearmint tea in this place?"

She grinned, thinking about the tea kettle in her room that she would fill up with water and heat up with her wand on cold, stressful nights.

"I know a place."

"Are you always this mysterious?"

"No, just on Tuesdays."

"It's Wednesday, Granger," he laughed but it quickly escalated into a bout of coughing.

"Just get better, okay? I need you."

He arched an eyebrow and she blinked rapidly.

"For Head purposes, I mean."

He stared at her silently, watching her. His eyes drifted down the planes of her faze, glassy and dazed, and she momentarily saw the emotional shield waver, allowing her to see some cloudy, unrecognizable expression within the depths of his stormy eyes.

She sighed, hearing the bell tower chime somewhere in the distance, remembering that she told Ginny she would be right back and to save her a seat.

"I should go."

His metallic orbs rested finally on her lips and he swallowed, clearing his throat. Breaking the spell.

"Yeah, you should."

The shield sprang back up and he shifted away from her. Not knowing what else to say, Hermione rose to her feet and began to leave him.

"And Granger?"

She stopped, turning around slowly.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Her heart slammed in her chest, screeching to a halt. Had Draco Malfoy just _thanked_ her?

"You're welcome."

Without another word, Hermione hurriedly left Draco behind, wondering what had possessed her to even visit him in the first place. Knowing Ginny would be wondering where she was, Hermione returned to the Great Hall to keep her friends company as they dined.

"How was Draco?" asked Neville when she finally slipped into her seat.

"Better," Hermione answered shortly.

"That was sweet of you to bring him a meal, Hermione," Fay Dunbar commented and Hermione sighed, shrugging.

"I know what he likes to eat more than Madame Promfrey," she explained by way of rationalization.

"Oh, good," Ginny growled. "Look what trash just blew in."

Hermione followed Ginny's glare and her eyes landed on Gina, Romilda Vane's second in command. Gina sat down near the edge of the table, instantly joining the conversation with the girls around her.

"What a tart," Ginny snarled. "She and Romilda are, by far, the biggest sluts this school has to offer. Can you even believe that Romilda is seeing that Kartrick creature?"

A thought suddenly sprang into the forefront of Hermione's mind.

"Ginny, didn't you say Gina was Muggleborn?"

Ginny's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Uh, yes?"

"So she would use Muggle things, right? Like, say, a Muggle pregnancy test?"

By now, Ginny looked thoroughly confused.

"Right?"

"Great! Be right back," Hermione exclaimed and jumped out of her seat, hurrying over to Gina.

"What do you want?" the girl demanded.

"I was wondering if you have a moment to speak in private," Hermione asked, eyeing the group of cookie cutter friends situated around her.

"Sure?" Gina responded, stepping into the doorway, well out of earshot.

"Do you by chance have a Muggle pregnancy test with you?"

"Is this some kind of joke?" she scoffed, glaring. "If you're trying to go all Head Girl schoolmarm virtue on me or convert me to your prudish abstinent ways, you can go shove that Muggle pregnancy test up your arse."

Hermione eyed her, carefully checking her temper at the door.

"No, I just know a friend who is in need of one and I thought I would ask you," Hermione explained.

"Why, because I'm some kind of big known slut?"

"No," Hermione lied. "Because I know you are Muggleborn and a lot of girls our age are sexually active and my friend wanted me to ask you for one. She's afraid she might be pregnant and wants to check the old fashioned way while she waits for the pregnancy potion results."

"Who is this so called friend?" Gina snorted.

"That's confidential. Look, do you have one or not?" Hermione said, impatient.

Gina bit her lip, looking around so as to make sure no one could see her. She carefully eyed Hermione, as if trying to decipher whether to trust her or not, and finally conceded, nodding. She rifled through her bag for her wand and quietly said an incantation, pointing her wand deep into the depths of her bag. She then deposited her wand back into her bag and secretively took out a pregnancy test.

"Tell your friend to pee on the stick," Gina said and Hermione thanked her before heading back to her seat to grab her bag.

"What was that all about?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"Just had to ask her a question about our assignment in Potions."

"Involving Muggle pregnancy tests?"

Hermione shrugged. "Anyway, I've got to dash."

"What's got you in such a hurry?" asked Neville.

"She's tutoring Kartrick," explained Ginny sourly, momentarily forgetting their conversation. "I really don't like this, by the way, Herm. I don't think it is a good idea to be alone with him."

"I won't be alone," Hermione protested. "We'll be in the library."

She hugged Neville and Ginny before heading off toward the entrance. On her way, she noticed Pansy Parkinson sitting at the edge of the table next to Blaise, her bag open at her feet. Being as careful and inconspicuous as she could manage, Hermione slipped the pregnancy test into Pansy's bag, hoping that she'd find it while cleaning out her bag that night and be able to confirm her fears, for worse or for better.

* * *

><p>"And the potion that has a pearl-like sheen and steam that rises in spirals, which smells differently according to what attracts the person," Hermione hinted, pausing to let Pieter answer.<p>

When he shrugged, she gave him another clue. "It is also considered the most powerful love potion in the world."

There was no reply from the brooding boy, except for another shrug and the scratching of Pieter's charcoal pencils against his sketchbook. Hermione, despite herself, felt her fingers curl into a fist in her frustration. For the past hour, Hermione had been trying and failing to coax Pieter into listening to the chapter about all the known potions in the magical world to help prepare him for his Potions test tomorrow. It was clear that his mind was far from known potions and their properties.

Hermione tried very hard to stay patient with the difficult young man, knowing he was socially awkward and didn't take well to orders of any kind, but she had also taken precious time out of her schedule to help him, with no thanks or even a smidgen of work on his part.

"Pieter," Hermione said quietly, but the young man did not look up. Instead, he continued to stare intensely at his drawing, sketching away in his own little world.

_Stay calm,_ her thoughts urged her. It was growing close to curfew anyway and then she could be rid of him. But then, if Pieter failed and she had been in charge of tutoring him, it would reflect badly on her. She at least wanted to make sure he knew a little bit of the material before turning him loose.

"Pieter, I will not ask you again," she warned, peering over her textbook. "Please cooperate and answer the question. We're almost done."

No response but the sound of charcoal grating roughly on canvas.

Hermione growled and smacked her textbook down on the table. Pieter jumped, his midnight eyes wide and surprised as he _finally_ tore them away from his sketchpad.

"What was that for?" he demanded.

"You have not been paying attention to_ anything_ I've been saying in the past hour," Hermione nearly shouted, trying to keep a lid on her tempter. "How do you ever expect to get better if you never make an attempt at anything?"

"I answered your questions," he said darkly, his eyes narrowing.

"Hardly!" she scoffed. "You answered perhaps five out of the fifty I've quizzed you on."

"I'm not in the mood," he declared seriously, but whether he was talking about studying for Potions or her nagging, she couldn't be entirely sure.

"No? Not in the mood, are we?" Hermione snarled. "Well, perhaps I'm not in the mood for your silly childish antics anymore. Perhaps I'm not in the mood to waste my time on someone who clearly doesn't give a damn. Perhaps I'm not in the mood to talk to the back of a sketchpad all night!"

Blinded by frustration and rage, her hand shot out before she could stop it, reaching out over across the table and snatching his sketchbook straight out of his hands. At first, he made no move, staring at the space the pad had once rested, and then, ever so slightly, his stony black eyes flashed a shade darker, locking on hers. It was a look a reptile might have when it gazes upon its prey.

"I want you to _listen_ to me," Hermione said more quiet, trying to calm her pounding heart and the trembling now present in her voice. "It's no wonder you are getting such poor grades in your classes; all you ever do is draw in this."

"Put it down."

Hermione's eyes flickered toward him.

"Why do you have such a problem with me touching it?" she wondered suspiciously, thinking back to what Romilda had told her about how he had been sketching her. "What do you have to hide?"

"It's private," he hissed.

"Yes, and it's also rude for you to be drawing inside of it while I am speaking to you!" Hermione snapped, irritated once again. "I've half a mind to tear this thing to shreds!"

She rose to her feet in her rage, holding the pad high above her head until it opened above her, a spray of canvas paper coming loose and falling like confetti around her.

"No, stop!" Pieter shrieked, rising to his feet, practically scrambling over the table.

Hermione watched as its pages spiraled around her, landing at her feet. The rest of the pad fell from her suddenly numb hands. Her mouth opened in shock and horror as her eyes drank in the drawings all around her.

They were all very well drawn; he had talent that was for sure. Broken skulls of human heads, flawless sketches of a Death Eater's arm complete with a Dark Mark. But the last couple of pages were the most disturbing.

They were of Hermione. The rest of the canvas around her consisted of drawings of Hermione in her classes, pondering in the library, taking a walk around the grounds, opening a note at the dinner table, crying and heading towards the Prefects bathroom.

Pieter Kartrick had been _everywhere_, places he should never have been, and she hadn't even seen him.

"Are these—?" Hermione gasped, but she never had time to complete her sentence.

"How _dare_ you!" Pieter snarled, striding over to her with angered steps.

He ripped the notebook roughly from the ground before she could see what the remainder of the sketchpad consisted of and shoved her into the bookcase directly behind her, causing several loose novels to crumble to the ground. One rather large tome slapped against the side of her head, momentarily making her vision black.

"Pieter_—"_

Hissing in the most unnatural way, Pieter's fingers locked around her wrists like tense iron fetters, making them burn.

"You're hurting me," she insisted, her eyes going wide.

Her heart hammered and she stood frozen in place, wide-eyed and paralyzed.

_You have to do something,_ her mind reasoned. _Be calm. He's losing control._

She grappled for her wand, only to realize it was sitting beside Pieter's textbook on the table. How could she have been so careless?

"You think you can just _take_ my _personal_ property and go peeping through it?"

His voice was a sibilant hiss, like wrought irons spikes raking down her intestines. Growling, he shoved the tip of his wand into her stomach.

"You think I'm not smart, Granger?"

"No, I never_—_"

A loud guttural noise escaped her throat as he drove the tip of his wand deeper into her stomach.

"I could blow up every intestine, every muscle, and every morsel in that stomach of yours, Hermione Jean Granger," he whispered bitingly, his breath like that of the dead. "I know spells that you've never even heard of before. I could make you scream."

"_Go on, go on._ _Let it out, you bloody bint. Scream for me_."

Her mind reeled at the familiar memory, of a faraway time locked inside a panic room with a deranged madman shoving his wand into her chest. Very much like the way Pieter now threatened her.

With a force Hermione had never seen within herself, she slammed her aching head into Pieter's skull. He sailed backward and Hermione stumbled toward the table, her fingers barely grazing her wand before Pieter's ice cold fingers snatched her ankle and she collapsed to the ground. Her wand rolled away, clattering to the floor.

"You pathetic piece of swine!" railed Pieter, lunging at her fiercely.

There was a blackness in his eyes that she had never seen before and she scooted away from him, trying to crawl away. She was far to dizzy to stand or make much movement at all. He tackled her to the ground and pinned her down with sweaty hands. Hermione trembled, swatting at him and raking her nails down his face, but he didn't even flinch.

"You interceding, nosy little _bitch_. You couldn't just stay out of it, couldn't just leave me alone. Now, I'll make you pay."

"_Please_—"

Her pleading fell upon deaf ears. Instead of letting her go, he planted himself on top of her, driving his knees deep into her thighs.

"_Help!"_ Hermione shrieked, but knowing it was to no avail. Madame Pince had left Hermione in charge of the near empty library so that she could meet with McGonagall.

His left hand drove his wand into the space between her breasts, placing pressure on her sternum. She gasped as his other hand locked around her thin neck like a steel clamp, crushing her larynx.

"Cruci—"

Pieter suddenly ricocheted backward, slamming hard into the bookcase and taking a chair down with him. Hermione sputtered, her vision dotty, and blinked rapidly. She could hear a struggle.

"Yeah, you run away, you sick little fuck!"

The doors to the library slammed. A hand clasped her hand. She screamed, her legs flailing.

"Shh, hey, it's okay," soothed a familiar voice. "You're alright. He's gone now. It's just me."

Hermione sat up, swallowing painfully. Kneeling next to her was Blaise Zabini and he looked almost as horrified at the exchange between her and Pieter as she felt. After making sure she was definitely okay, Blaise began picking up the drawings Pieter had forgotten in his haste.

"What the hell?" he muttered, staring down at the drawings in disgust. "Has he been stalking you?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I suppose," she rasped. "I never saw much of him, never really thought much of him either until—"

"Until he just tried to off you in the school library?" Blaise finished, watching her in disbelief.

Suddenly, as if it all just sank in in that one moment, the panic set in. Her chest tightened, the breath in her lungs dissolved, and her throat constricted painfully. Within seconds, Blaise was at her side, his olive hands rubbing her back and arms, slapping her face softly.

"Hey, don't you do that," he instructed. "Take deep breaths. Focus on relaxing, focus on breathing. You're okay."

Hermione settled down within a few minutes, exhausted in his arms.

"What just happened?" she gasped, disoriented.

"You had a panic attack," Blaise explained. "Have you ever had one before?"

Hermione flinched.

"When I was a child, I think," she said, remembering how her father used to calm her. "I used to have night terrors."

"Me too," he shared, smiling knowingly at her. "You must've really been through hell if something as simple as a weirdo Goth freak trying to off you in the library gets to you after being in a war and not even shedding a tear."

Hermione smirked slightly.

"I guess you could say that," she whispered carefully. "Thank you, by the way."

"Don't mention it," he replied, waving her off.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"I was looking for Draco, actually," Blaise explained. "He was released from the hospital wing about and hour and a half ago and told me he was going to try and get some studying in so he could catch up, but evidently he's not here. No one is here, not even Madame Pince."

"She had a meeting and asked me to watch the library for her. I was tutoring Pieter, or at least attempting to."

Blaise shook his head and handed her her books and wand.

"I think you should go see Madame Promfrey," he said, gazing at her in concern.

"I'm fine," she argued. "Really."

"Granger, you were almost cursed with an Unforgivable," he said.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Hermione laughed darkly, shaking her head.

He regarded her carefully before sighing and helping her to her feet.

"Even so, I think you should at least talk to a teacher or something," he insisted. "I can take you to McGonagall if you would like."

"That's sweet of you, but I think I'll just go see Professor Thorne," Hermione said. "I should probably tell him I won't be tutoring Pieter anymore."

The handsome Slytherin nodded, helped her collect her things, and walked her to Thorne's office, staying protectively close to her the whole time. Before she knocked on Thorne's door, Blaise turned to her and held out the drawings.

"You want to hold on to these so you can show them to Thorne or McGonagall?"

Hermione shook her head. "I never want to see them ever again. Get rid of them."

"Alright. Have a good night, Granger. Don't attract any more creeps, you hear me?"

She laughed and waved at him as he left, then she knocked on Thorne's door, hoping he'd still be in his office at this hour.

"One moment!" Thorne called from the depths of his office.

While she waited, Hermione's thoughts flashed back to Pieter. She'd always known that he was different and that he had anger problems, but never, ever before had she _ever_ imagined something that dark nested within him. It terrified her. But why? Because he was a deranged, emotional, scarred boy? Because he'd obviously experienced and seen awful things? He had been charming, in a quiet way, before...

Now she knew why Pieter had no friends, why the only girl interested in him was the most desperate and emotionally pathetic girl in school, and why he gave the creeps to every guy around him. He was dark, outside and in.

A hand grabbed her shoulder.

Hermione shrieked, swinging around with her wand raised. Her books fell to the ground with a _smack_.

"Miss Granger?"

Professor Thorne's amber eyes were a shade darker in the dim lighting. Through the slit in his black robe, Hermione could see his dark pajama pants and his bare but toned chest.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to frighten you."

He bent to pick up her books.

"Fine," Hermione breathed, lowering her wand. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Is everything alright, Hermione?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You seem a little shaken up."

"Yes, no, I mean—" she stuttered and took a deep breath, shaking her head. "I apologize for coming to see you, especially since it is now past curfew."

"Not a problem," he insisted. "I was just grading papers. Please, come in."

She nodded and stepped into his office. The door to his bed chamber was open a crack.

"Professor Thorne, I don't know if I can continue tutoring Pieter Kartrick."

"Why ever not?" he asked, shocked.

"I had some trouble with him tonight," Hermione answered. "Actually, for the past week. I can't help him if he won't help himself, sir."

"There's more to it than just that, Hermione," Professor Thorne noticed, reaching out to brush some hair away from her neck. She flinched as a reflex and he removed his hand.

"You have a bruise forming on your neck, Miss Granger," he whispered, eyes wide and startled.

She swallowed, her hand jumping to her neck.

"How strange," Hermione stuttered. "I'm sure it is nothing. I bruise very easy."

"Did Mr. Kartrick hurt you? Did he do this?" he demanded, gripping her arms. "If so, you must report this at once. We do not tolerate such behavior at this school. You must tell me, Hermione. Did he do this to you?"

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying not to cry, trying to keep calm.

"No, of course not. Pieter left probably ten minutes before I did tonight, sir," she said quickly and it wasn't exactly a lie. "He and I had a little row, but it was nothing. He just got up and left, so I stayed and packed up."

"So, you wouldn't mind me going into the library to just check—" he said, turning around.

"He's long gone, sir. Please, I'm begging you to believe me," Hermione insisted, grabbing his hand. He turned around, his dark eyes boring into hers with concern and tension.

"Very well," the kind professor relented and cleared his throat. "I will make the arrangements necessary and remove you from being Mr. Kartrick's tutor. But I would press that you report to me anything that might have happened between you and him tonight. If he hurt you or threatened you, I must know."

She swallowed nervously.

"You know that you can tell me anything, Hermione," he whispered comfortingly. "You've a friend in me."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione told him and felt the sudden urge to embrace him, but resisted. That wouldn't be appropriate.

"Good night, Hermione."

She smiled softly at him before leaving his office and heading off toward the Head dorm, eager for the night to be over. The portrait hole swung open and she stepped inside, only to stop short. Draco was sitting on the couch, staring absently into the fire. Beside him, Crookshanks was curled up snuggly, his paw resting on Draco's open Charms textbook.

When he noticed her entrance, Draco startled.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately and she had to wonder if her distress was that obvious on her face.

"It's nothing," she said simply, shaking her head.

"Granger, you've been crying."

"I—I just—it was a bad night."

He sized her up, obviously catching sight that she was in no mood to discuss her feelings.

"Fair enough. It's been that way for me too."

"Oh?"

She sat down next to him, rubbing Crookshanks' ears. He gestured to his textbook.

"I've been staring at this same sentence for the past hour. I miss this class once and already I've got loads of rubbish to read."

"I can help you, if you'd like," she offered.

"I don't need a tutor, Granger."

She flinched at the word.

"Of course you don't," she backpedaled. "You didn't get this Head position for nothing. Believe me, I'm not very comfortable with the idea of tutoring anymore. It's just you've been ill and now you're behind. Blaise told me how stressed you've been. I could help you catch up, if you'd like. Lend you my notes."

"That'd be great," he whispered. "Since when do you and Blaise talk?"

She shrugged, laughing slightly. "He's a pretty neat guy. Anyway, I'll just run up and get my Charms essay and my notes. We can go over them together."

She stood to walk up the stairs when his voice suddenly halted her.

"You're not in any danger are you?"

"No?"

She gave him a quizzical look.

"Well if you ever need someone, you can always come to me. I guess."

"That sounded sincere," she snorted.

"Im serious."

"Thanks?"

Shaking her head, she walked up the stairs and into her room. She grabbed her Charms materials off her vanity, glancing quickly at herself in the mirror out of habit. It was only then that she saw the thick bruises forming already on her pale neck. Swallowing again, she turned away from her vanity, only to knock something over in the process.

She bent to retrieve the fallen item.

The ribboned choker with the crystal heart. The necklace her admirer had given her. It was thick enough to rest around the bruised area of her neck. It was thick enough to hide her bruises.

Before returning downstairs to help Draco study, Hermione placed the choker on the uniform she had placed on the foot of her bed for tomorrow. Until the bruises healed, she would not take it off, no matter who had given it to her.


	15. Alexandrite

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Thank you so much to all of those who have continued to read and review for this story. I know it has been a while since I last updated; I was finishing finals. But here you go!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Fourteen<span>_

_Alexandrite_

* * *

><p><em>Suddenly my eyes are open,<br>Everything comes into focus.  
>We are all illuminated,<br>Lights are shining on our faces, blinding.  
>Swing me these sorrows<br>And try delusion for a while.  
>It's such a beautiful lie.<em>

__"Illuminated"_—_The Hurts__

* * *

><p>Draco returned to classes the next day. Though he felt extremely exhausted and still a little under the weather, he felt heaps better than he had several days ago when he'd nearly drowned in bath. Madame Promfrey hadn't given him a dose of dreamless sleep potion in two days, trying to see if he could sleep through the night, at least for a few productive hours, without needing interference. He'd passed the test and had been allowed to leave last night, but he still wished she'd given him something to help the dreams go away.<p>

However, he was determined not to go back to the hospital wing. So, when Blaise slid into the seat next to him in Transfiguration that day and offered him back his ring, he made no objections and quickly slipped the ring back onto his finger.

"I have a theory about that ring of yours," Blaise said by way of greeting.

"Do you?" Draco nearly laughed. "And what, pray tell, is this award winning theory of yours?"

"I think that you taking off that ring only made everything ten times worse," Blaise mused.

"Make that a hundred times worse," Draco said blandly. "And of course I realize that. I ended up in the hospital wing because of it."

"The ring picked you and you were already far too connected to it. When you removed it and rejected it, the dreams got worse and it punished you. No matter how much you fight it, you need that ring right now."

Draco sighed.

"Blaise, I swear I'm going mental here."

"It'll be alright, mate," Blaise comforted as the bell rang. "Any more dreams of Granger?"

Draco glanced at his friend questioningly.

"Why? Going to theorize I have feelings for her again?"

Blaise snorted. "Still think you do, but no. I was actually just concerned. So, have you?"

"Yes. All my dreams have been about her. The ones I had when I didn't have the ring or Madame Promfrey's help were the worst. The death more violent, more gruesome."

Blaise swallowed audibly.

"That's just as I feared. And _all_ your dreams have been about her lately?"

"There hasn't been _one_ without her in it," Draco growled, raking a hand through his hair. "It's maddening."

As if right on cue, Hermione and Ginny Weasley waltzed through the door and sat down. She met his gaze and he nodded at her. In return she gave him a small smile. Around her neck she wore the Victorian choker she had received about a week ago in the Great Hall. It's black ribbon hung around her porcelain neck charmingly, and the crystal heart hung at the base of her throat. When she caught him staring at it, she began playing with it oddly and buried her face behind her curtain of hair, as if hiding something.

"Well, I think we'd better keep an eye on her from here on out," Blaise told him seriously.

Draco returned his attention to his friend, deep in thought.

"Why do you say that?"

"Just take it from me, Draco," he said gravely. "She's in danger."

"Because of my dreams?"

"That, and she's already in danger. I walked in on Pieter Kartrick choking her and trying to curse her with Unforgivables last night in the library. I beat him to a pulp, but Granger nearly had a full on panic attack. She refused to go to the hospital but instead insisted I walk her to Thorne's office so she could tell him she can't tutor the creep anymore."

"He did _what_?" Draco hissed.

An unreasonable heat coursed through his veins and he stared at Hermione openly, taking in her expression as she zoned out, not even listening or attempting to listen to Lavinia.

"They must've gotten into some kind of spat, like he had with Pansy. You know how temperamental he gets. Anyway, these were lying all over the floor where they'd fallen out of his sketchpad. He's been stalking her."

Draco's hands curled into hard fists. He glared down hard at the drawings Blaise had snatched from the library last night. They were mostly all of Hermione Granger.

_I knew she wasn't okay last night,_ Draco thought bitterly, wanting to hit himself for just letting it go. He had gotten a very bad feeling last night when he left the hospital wing, so instead of going to the library, he headed back to the dormitory to clear his head. Only then Hermione walked in, looking frightened as hell and about to break.

"He wasn't in Defense this morning," Draco whispered, remembering how fidgety Hermione had been before Professor Thorne called Pieter's name on attendance and marked him absent.

"Coward," Blaise muttered darkly. "Anyway, I think it is high time we start taking this seriously. I know that's not what you want to hear, but I can't stand by and watch this happen, Draco. You're better than that and so am I. She needs our help, even if she doesn't realize it."

Draco sighed heavily, knowing he was right. Draco knew he had to wear the ring, he had to get a better understanding of whatever it meant, and he had to keep a closer eye on Hermione, no matter how much he wished she'd just disappear.

"I'll help you," Blaise assured. "You tell me your dreams, I'll keep track of them, and I'll help you try to interpret them."

"What are you proposing we do, become Granger's personal body guards and stalk her around the school? Keep a dream journal?"

"Precisely," Blaise said and then smirked. "It'll be fun!"

After class, Draco and Blaise entered the Great Hall in deep conversation. As they sat down next to Pansy, Draco spotted Astoria and Theo walk into the Great Hall together.

"Strange, don't you think?" Pansy said unhappily.

Draco turned to her, quirking an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, strange?"

"It's strange that Theo and Astoria, whose classes are on opposite ends of the castle, somehow ran into each other so perfectly to walk to the Great Hall together."

"Coincidence?" Blaise mumbled and Draco shot him a glare.

"I think not," Pansy finished, smirking despite the lack of humor in the situation.

Though Astoria waved at Pansy, Theo made no attempt to greet his girlfriend, instead slipping into the empty seat next to her and immediately loading food onto his plate. Astoria, somehow sensing from Pansy's cold shoulder that she was no longer welcome, didn't even sit down before whispering a teary goodbye and setting off down the aisle toward the entrance.

"Why are you being so harsh to her?" Draco wondered, but Pansy ignored him pointedly.

Blaise kicked him roughly in the shin under the table, giving him a look which clearly told him to shut his fat mouth.

"I'm not pregnant, by the way," Pansy stated abruptly, turning to her quiet boyfriend. "Just in case you were wondering."

Draco gazed at both Blaise and Theo, who both seemed not at all taken aback by the news. Draco wondered if Pansy had come to her senses and filled the two of them in since he'd last spoken to her.

"Not that you bloody well care these days what condition I'm in or what I do."

Theo barely flinched.

"I've been busy."

The look that crossed Pansy's face in that instant was incredible.

"With Astoria?"

"Don't bring her into this," Theo sighed exasperatedly.

"Why not?" she challenged. "You spend all your time with her lately."

"Pansy, you see what you want to see," argued Theo. "She's my partner and we have Quidditch practice up the wall this month. It is the biggest month of the fall season."

"You don't think I don't see the way you look at her?"

"Oh, really? And what about Zabini?" snarled Theo, for the first time showing emotion.

Blaise perked up at the mention of his name and he locked eyes with Draco, his own confusion mirrored in his eyes.

"Blaise?" Pansy scoffed, continuing on as if Blaise was not sitting right next to her. "What about him?"

"You spend all your time with him. You two are hardly apart. You were like that all summer too. You can never get too much of him."

Pansy laughed darkly.

"I can't believe I'm actually hearing this. I've been spending time with Blaise because Draco is Head Boy and he and you are never around! Not to mention the fact that I never spend time with Astoria anymore because you're always supposedly doing things with her."

"Supposedly?"

"Explain something to me, Theo," Pansy confronted. "How is it that I spend so much time with Blaise, the _captain_ of the Quidditch team, and yet I can't get a measly five minutes around you because you always have _practice._ Honestly, be a little more clever about that next time, will you? And your little project with Astoria was over a week and a half ago, so don't even pull that bullshit on me. I'm not a dunce."

"Well maybe we should just break up."

Everyone within a three foot radius of the couple blanched.

"W—What?"

"We never spend any time together. It's obvious we both want something the other person can't give."

"Oh, yeah? How long have you had that speech all written out?"

Theo didn't even blink. "I love you Panse, but this just isn't working."

"You love me," she repeated incredulously. "Then why the hell are you doing this to me?"

"I deserve to be happy Pansy."

"What your saying is I don't make you happy."

Before even waiting for an answer, Pansy stood hastily from the table, eyes hard and jaw set. Then, as a final note in their conversation, Pansy raised her hand and slapped Theo hard across the face.

"Rot in hell you miserable bastard," she snarled before turning on her heel and disappearing out of the Great Hall.

"Good riddance with you. You never deserved her, anyway," Blaise said to Theo before he, too, darted out of the Great Hall, obviously searching for Pansy.

Draco remained in his seat, not really believing what he had just witnessed. The Great Hall was very quiet now, awkwardly so.

"That bites," Ginny Weasley commented, referring to the break up. "But good on her for slapping him. If I had a boyfriend like that I would've done a lot more damage than that."

Draco, for the first time, realized he was sitting directly behind Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger. He cursed his infernal luck.

"I hope she's okay," Hermione said worriedly. "I suppose I now know why she was giving her friend the cold shoulder the other day."

"Yeah, some friend she is," Ginny scoffed. "Real friends don't do that to each other. You and I would _never_ do that."

"I know, but every friendship is different," Hermione explained. "Besides, I'm sure we don't have the full story. Let's not go gossiping and pointing fingers at anyone."

"You're no fun," Ginny whined. "But on another note, how are you doing?"

"I'm well," Hermione said, but Draco knew it was a lie. He wondered if she'd told Ginny about Pieter. "Just stressed. I need a vacation."

Ginny laughed.

"Of course you do," she stated. "Hey, how about you and I have a sleepover? We can make some tea in that fancy contraption of yours and catch up on each others lives and give each other facials or whatever it is us girly girls like to do."

"_Girly_ girls?"

"Oh, give me a break. So, tonight, your dorm?"

"Sounds like a plan," Hermione laughed.

Draco rolled his eyes, making a mental note to arrive late to the Head dorm that night and stay holed up in his room until the red haired girl left. Just then, the bell rang, concluding their conversation. Draco watched as Hermione and her friend exited the Great Hall before he, too, headed off to his next class.

Draco spent the majority of Arithmancy trying and failing to focus on the lesson. All he could think about was the infernal ring which sat upon his finger and how, since he'd put it back on, he'd felt tremendously better than he had before. Luckily, Vector didn't give him too much of a hard time, knowing that Draco had been in the hospital wing for several days.

When his last class with Sprout approached, Draco no longer had the patience. He decided to skip and head off to the library to try and get more information about his ring, knowing it was a hopeless task, but needing to try anyway.

_Stupid Granger,_ Draco thought sardonically as he walked to the library. _Why did it have to be _her _of all the people__?_

When he entered the library, it was mostly empty except for a few students with a free period. Madame Pince was nowhere to be seen, most likely in her office or stocking a bookshelf somewhere, leaving Draco alone on his quest. With a sigh, he roamed aimlessly through the aisles, wondering where to start his search this time.

It was peaceful inside the cavernous room, giving him room to think deeply, a feat he seemed no longer able to do. It was no wonder the brainy bookworm that tormented his sleep every night always came here.

"Great bloody Salazaar, get out of my head," he growled, tearing at his scalp as Hermione's face swam across his line of vision, red lipped and stunning like in his dream.

His stomach quivered in response. He closed his eyes, coming to a stand still in the middle of the library, breathing deeply to clear his thoughts. He really had to concentrate if he wanted to get any answers. He stared down expectantly at the ring on his finger. It was emerald green.

"Whatever you want me to do, I can't do it unless you help me out here."

And now he was talking to a ring. Truly, his life had gone to the dogs.

Then, the strangest thing happened. His ring, only moments before a dark forest green, began shifting into a warm, crimson red. It began to vibrate, sending fuzzy jolts throughout his veins. He blinked several times, not understanding at all what was happening.

"This is new," he whispered, nervous.

He felt a jolt behind his navel, like he was holding onto a portkey or about to apparate. The ring seemed to be pulling toward something, as if a magnetic connection had been made between it and something in the distance. Confused, Draco let the ring lead him toward the back. The Restricted Section now stood proudly and ominously before him. He scratched his neck and gazed down at the ring, more than confused.

"But I've _been_ inside the Restricted Section before," Draco muttered, frustrated. "There was nothing I could find."

_Maybe you weren't ready for the answers_.

He shoved his thoughts away and whipped out his wand.

_All right_, he thought, _if my dreams really do mean something, then this will work._

He pointed his wand to the Restricted Section's doors and muttered, "_Alohamora_." At first nothing happened. The doors didn't squeak open, there was no clicking sound alerting him that the lock had been detached, and there was no holy singing to praise him for his miraculous deeds.

But the ring continued to vibrate, stronger than it had before, and something within him told him to try it again. So, he did. He moved toward the door and tried the handle. It was warm as hot coals under his tender, clammy palm. To his surprise, the doors opened and he moved into the darkened section of the library, dumbstruck by his luck.

Maybe the ring had more benefits than he thought it did.

He raised his wand and shut the door quickly behind him. Following the ring's vibrations, he walked down the aisles of the Restricted Section.

He stopped short despite the ring's insistent pull to keep going forward. He gulped, staring straight ahead at the solitary table at the very back of the Restricted Section—the one from his dream. Images suddenly shot through his brain, making his vision go blurry. He was inside his dream again, feeling Hermione's moist lips pressing urgently against his, her musical voice begging him to save her, telling him she was going to die—that he had to save her.

He shook the dream out of his mind hastily, gripping onto the bookcase beside him to steady himself. Sucking in a deep breath, Draco moved toward the table, his ring vibrating almost maddeningly.

His long, pale fingers, white as bone, caressed the books in the far end bookcase, his eyes searching the spines intently for anything that might help him. Suddenly, his ring jerked forward off his finger, falling to the ground near his shoe. He knelt down to pick it up and it jumped away from him, nestling itself behind two thick volumes about dragon's blood. Irritated, Draco tore the two volumes off the shelf and they landed on the ground with a _bang_, issuing a cloud of dust into the air. Coughing, Draco squinted.

The ring was sitting contently by a tiny book at the _very_ back of the shelf, forgotten over the years behind two thick volumes. There would have been no way he could have found it if his ring hadn't gone ballistic. Curious, Draco picked up his ring and the thin book and stood up, brushing the dust off his trousers and slipping his ring back on his finger.

_Focus_, he reminded himself as he lowered his body into a seat at the table. Bracing himself, he set the book down on the table and blew off the dust, coughing as it rose into his nostrils and throat. It groaned in protest as he bent back the yellow pages. On the first page, he read the title, written into the yellow page in dark, curvy ink—_Powerful and Extinct Gems by Lloyd Greshwald Nimfatsure._

Draco flipped the page over to the table of contents and ran his finger down the page, not really knowing what he was looking for. One subtitle stuck out to him, almost jumping right off the page as his eyes skimmed past it. _Page 37. Alexandrite—The Foretelling Stone. _In response, the ring on his finger began humming. Carefully, he began to read.

_Alexandrite, a stone that is known in legend for its mysterious powers of prophetic dreams, is a very unique and ancient stone, seen mostly in the Middle Ages by powerful, upstanding sorcerers. The special gem is by far the most unique of all with its emerald and ruby coloring. Normally, such colors cannot possibly be mixed together in full form, but Alexandrite is a different case. The gem changes randomly from green to red, a peculiar find. But, as studies may have proven and as myth suggests, Alexandrite's different color schemes may not be so random—it is rumored to have special magical properties, the most famous of which is its power of prophecy, which allows its wearer to see glimpses of the future._

_The gem was once in high demand in the Dark Ages, but was soon confiscated due to large amounts of injustice among the people. If used in the wrong hands, Alexandrite can become dangerous and harmful. To keep the gem safe from unclean hands, a society of powerful sorceresses gathered together and bound the powers of the stone, hiding it away from society for several centuries._

_It was last claimed to be in possession of an upstanding wizard, who was given the stone by a sorceress in return for saving her life. Since then, the stone has grown practically extinct and most believe its existence to be only myth. _

The article went on to describe several different things, all dealing with prophecy and who created the stone and Draco greedily drank the information in. At the bottom of the page was a photograph of the stone, and it looked almost identical to the stone atop his golden ring band. His fingers brushed over his ring, feeling the contours of it.

With a sudden jolt of electricity, so powerful it stunned him frozen solid in his seat, Draco Malfoy was pulled through time.

Or, at least, it seemed that way. Perhaps he was having a vision, or perhaps he had fallen into another dream. But this was different. Everything was so clear and distinct, like it had happened before.

Had the ring pulled him into some kind of memory, like that of a pensive?

All around him on the busy street he now stood in were thousands of people, laughing and talking excitedly as the sound of drums and trumpets littered the evening air. The sun was setting splendidly over rising buildings, casting off a pink hue and drowning the cobblestones in glittery light.

Draco crinkled his brow, immensely confused. He was standing in some kind of street fair in downtown London, yet everything had changed.

Gone were the vices of modern men; in its absence was a plethora of old fashioned carriages, newly built buildings, and decorative and strange clothing. The men had their hair worn long, most of them held it in a ponytail at the base of their neck, and the women were dressed in cinched dresses with flowing skirts.

Draco glared down at the ring on his finger, giving a frustrated sigh. _Now_ what was the ring up to?

"Oh, Brutus! Look at how beautiful it is!"

Draco turned about and gazed at a very pinched looking woman behind him, fawning over a purple silk shawl greedily. She batted her too-long lashes and twirled a slender white finger around a corkscrew of stiff brown hair. Her dress was a gaudy hot fuchsia color and was decorated to prim perfection in a smattering of glittering jewels and gossamer. She wore three strings of pearls around her extremely long neck, giving her the appearance of a strangled giraffe looking for aid. Her dull brown eyes widened as she caught the perfume artfully sprayed on the shawl by the vendor.

"Yes," replied the blond man next to her, looking pained and bored. "Quite nice."

His obvious disdain for shopping held the woman in a temper. She huffed imperiously, placing her hands on her hips. The man sighed.

"Must you really?" he asked, strained.

"It is my birthday, Brutus," the woman reminded him haughtily. "It's only proper to give your _fiancee_ a gift for their birthday."

The man sighed again and gazed at the woman behind the vendor, hidden behind a mass of colored cloth hanging down in front of her.

"How much for the purple shawl?" he asked.

The woman stepped out from behind the vendor and leaned toward the woman. She inspected the purple silk with an acute eye before nodding and saying in a thickly accented voice, "'Tis only forty hundred pounds for you, monsieur."

Gypsies must have come into town from France, throwing their festival, or perhaps the British couple were in France. Draco could not be sure.

"Very well," Brutus said and handed the beautiful Gypsy the money.

A gust of wind pulsed through the Gypsy fair, throwing its angry fists against their bodies. The purple shawl in the pinched woman's hands shot away toward the street and the marching crowd beside it.

In that moment, several strange things happened. The man whipped around, the pinched woman shrieked in disdain, the Gypsy gasped in horror, and a faceless stable man became unbalanced and let go of the reigns of his horses. Draco noticed the man, Brutus, looked very familiar and the longer he gazed at him as his steely gray eyes followed the flying shawl, he noticed the man looked exactly like a Malfoy.

The Gypsy lurched forward, horrified that her merchandise would be soiled and destroyed which would mean she wouldn't have any money to eat, and grabbed for the shawl in desperation.

"No, stop!" the man cried, running after the Gypsy, who was unaware of the racing horses coming down the street.

Like a flash, the man pulled the woman aside roughly just before she met her death on the cobblestone streets. The wind ceased moments later and the shawl fell on top of his hand, still grasping the Gypsy tightly. Her wide green eyes were thankful and surprised as she gazed into the stony orbs of her savior.

"_Merci_," she gasped and then shook her head roughly. "Thank you. You saved my life."

"It was nothing," he swallowed uncomfortably, standing upright.

"You saved me. That is hardly nothing," she argued, fiery and stubborn. "I must pay you back."

The man suddenly became more uncomfortable.

"No," the man said. "Really."

"Take this, please," she said, taking off the ring hanging on a gold chain around her slender neck.

Draco blanched, staring hard at the ring, _his_ ring, as the woman handed it, chain and all, to the man.

The woman frowned when the man didn't reach out to accept her offered jewel. She boldly took his hand in her own, lingering slightly as she gazed down at his palm. She lightly traced her finger along the lines and creases in his palm before shoving the ring in his hand.

"You are not like the others in your family. You were meant for so much more," she told him. "That ring will do you justice."

Abruptly, she turned back to her table of scarfs.

"Wait," he said and she turned around, arching a thin dark eyebrow. "What is your name?"

"Genevieve," she answered quietly.

The man extended his hand and as she took it to shake, he said, "Mine is Brutus Malfoy. It was nice meeting you."

Draco started, taking a closer step toward the man and peering at him closely. _The_ Brutus Malfoy? Could this be the ancestor his parents had told him about in their letter? Had this beloved family heirloom, which had only worked for one man before Draco, really been given to the Malfoy family by a Gypsy?

Brutus turned back to his fiancee, disappearing from sight. Genevieve, however, stood rooted to the spot, staring at her hand. Inside her open palm was now a plethora of gold coins, given to her by Brutus Malfoy in exchange for the ring.

Like a shock, Draco was skyrocketed backward into another scene. Genevieve and Brutus were in a decorative and powerfully scented tent, kissing passionately. Her hands raked through his hair, their breathing course and their actions rough and desperate. On his finger, the ring was crimson red.

She suddenly broke away and turned from him with a sadness in her mossy green eyes.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered softly. "It's wrong. I am Muggleborn. You have a fiancee."

"I don't care," he said firmly and the ring flickered brightly. "You are the only one I've ever felt this way for. Muggleborn or not, I know you are my soulmate. The woman I'm to marry—I could never love her even a morsel as much as I love you. To hell with blood status!"

"I'll be killed, Brutus," the woman declared and he growled.

"Enough, Genevieve!" he snapped, distressed. "They don't matter. All that matters is you and me."

She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a searing kiss. Breaking away, he took her hands.

"Run away with me."

For one moment, her eyes shined with hope, but they soon darkened with reality. She shook her ebony hair and sighed.

"No. I'm not meant to."

And with that, Draco was blasted backward into another memory.

They were in an abandoned alley in the dark of night. The moon shined down from behind dark, gloomy clouds. Genevieve held a dark scarf over her ebony hair, to disguise herself perhaps. Her eyes were hard and fierce.

"I told you, I'm not doing this anymore," she stated, her tone hard and cruel. "I can't watch you throw away your life and put me in danger in the process. You must leave me alone."

Though her words deeply affected him, he shook his head and grabbed her hand as she turned to leave.

"Please, just listen," he cried desperately.

"To what, Brutus? More lies, more games?" she snarled. "You are married now, Brutus. If it was forbidden before, now it a trespass against your God. I will not be a used and toyed with at your will and pleasure anymore, you impertinent little snake. Go home to your wife."

By the end of her rant, she was shaking furiously in emotion.

"I need to speak with you."

"If you do not leave me this very instant, I will call for the police," she whimpered, tears streaming down her face.

"Don't be absurd, Vie," he whispered tenderly. "They would arrest you. Please."

She deflated, momentarily giving in. "You have five minutes and I swear, then I am walking out of your life forever and you _will_ leave me be."

"It's the ring," Brutus told her and her eyes flickered with recognition. "It is driving me mad, Genevieve. I demand you take it back."

"No," she insisted forcefully, shoving his outstretched hand away from her. "It is yours. It was meant for _your_ bloodline."

"I can't sleep, Genevieve. I can't shut my eyes without being bombarded by terrible dreams. And you know it is because of this ring."

"What are in these dreams?" she asked hesitantly, curiously.

There was a long, pregnant pause and he hung his head.

"You die."

A heavy silence clung to the air around them and she set her jaw.

"Then, I suppose it will come to pass," she whispered inaudibly.

Draco grew stricken, his body stiffening. This woman was going to die and she knew it. Brutus, however, didn't understand her acceptance or her resignation. He watched her leave with a hard smile and cold eyes.

She didn't even ask to be saved.

Draco was flung backward into another memory. He now stood in a graveyard next to Brutus Malfoy, as he wept for his fallen Gypsy lover.

"I will keep your memory with me until the day I die," he sobbed, stroking the gravestone. "The ring predicted your death and I didn't believe it was true. You died because I was too foolish to realize this ring's power. And you were too stubborn to tell me until it was too late. _Why_? Why didn't you ask me to be saved when you _knew_ you would die?"

And with that, Draco was rocketed backward again, back into his reality, his time, still in the library.

He gazed around the library intensely, blinking away the memories he'd just experienced. So, his ancestor had been the man the book had been talking about. The man who saved the powerful sorceress from death and had been offered the ring as a thanks. Genevieve had been the sorceress protecting the ring, and she had been a Muggleborn.

Hermione Granger's face instantly weaved its way into his head and he snarled, banging his fist on the wooden table so that is shuddered underneath his touch.

"Damn it, Granger," he growled. "God damn it all to hell."

The ring had been trying to tell him this all along. Just like his ancestor before him, Draco now held the power to predict the future, and see the death of another person before it happened. Only, unlike his ancestor, Draco knew the power of the ring. Now, he knew he couldn't bear to ignore his dreams any longer, which meant he could no longer ignore Hermione Granger or the fact that she was in grave danger and someone was trying to kill her.

Now, he knew he had no choice. He had to save Hermione Granger, before he became a man filled with regret and guilt.

Before Hermione Granger became the death of him for good.


	16. Wicked

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N: **The plot thickens, my dears! Mwahahah. Okay, my evil moment is over. See, aren't you so happy that my finals are over and I'm on break? Now I can update a TON for you!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Fifteen<span>_

_Wicked_

* * *

><p><em>Do you breath the name of your savior in your hour of need<br>And taste the blame if the flavor should remind you of greed?  
>Of implication, insinuation and ill will, till you cannot lie still<br>In all this turmoil, before red cape and foil come closing in for a kill_

_"Carnival Of Rust"_—_Poets of the Fall_

* * *

><p>When morning approached on the thirtieth of October, the day before Halloween and their scheduled visit to Hogsmeade, Hermione awoke exhausted, feeling as if she hadn't slept at all. The moment her head had hit the pillow the following night it seemed as if the next moment, she was being rudely awakened by the sunlight pouring in through the window above her nightstand.<p>

Grumpily, Hermione pulled her burgundy duvet over her head to obscure the persistent morning light, but to no avail. With a huff, she threw the duvet off her legs, shivering as her bare feet met with the cold wood panels of the floor. Covered in gooseflesh, she grabbed her sweater from the end of her bed where she had discarded it last night, and wrapped herself inside its cashmere warmth.

Ginny was still in bed, snoring contently into her pillow, her claret hair sprayed out over the pillow, her peachy lips parted peacefully. Hermione eyed her enviously, wishing she could have the pleasure of sleeping in. With a sigh, Hermione snatched up her school robes and slipped downstairs, turning the knob to the bathroom she shared with Draco. When she was done showering, she toweled off and dressed.

When Hermione arrived back in the dormitory, Ginny was just waking up, her brown eyes dim and tired as she rubbed them.

"Morning," she yawned, stretching her long, toned arms over her head.

"Good morning," Hermione greeted, although she most certainly did not feel like her morning was starting off well at all.

Ginny had insisted she stay the night last night and catch up. Hermione was grateful they had the opportunity to talk; she felt like she never saw Ginny outside classes and meals anymore.

"What time is it?"

"Half past seven," Hermione replied, leaning down to pick up her copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_.

"Merlin's _pants_," Ginny muttered angrily, hopping out of bed with renewed energy. "How come you didn't wake me?"

Hermione chose to ignore this, considering Ginny knew perfectly well why Hermione hadn't been there to dutifully wake her up. Mumbling obscenities, Ginny hobbled about the room, looking for her shoes. Plucking her shoe from under the bed, she exhaled sharply in frustration, causing her cinnamon bangs to flutter over her forehead before drooping down lazily over her eyes again.

"Damn, I don't even have time to bloody shower," Ginny growled, checking her watch. "Either that or I miss breakfast, and Merlin knows I can't handle Potions without food in my stomach."

"Ginny, for goodness sake, control your language," Hermione scolded reprovingly, earning a glare from her friend.

"Hermione, honestly, you'd think that after all this time you'd—_bollocks_, where did I _put_ that wand?" Ginny barked and sunk to her knees again, ruffling through the contents under Hermione's bed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Shaking her head, Hermione grabbed her bag and deposited _Advanced Potion-Making_ into it. Turning, she grabbed her wand from her bedside table and marched over to her vanity to spritz some perfume on her wrists. She reached down to pick up the choker she'd been wearing to hide her bruises—

It was gone. Her necklace, the one that had been given to her by an unknown admirer, which she had been wearing to cover up her bruised neck for several days now, was gone. Wide eyed and shocked, Hermione hastily knelt down, her knees bumping the wood floor so harshly they throbbed. She checked under her vanity, thinking that it might have fallen under it during the night. It hadn't. Unsatisfied, she searched under her bed, nightstand, and double checked under her dresser and vanity, but there was nothing beneath them, only dust and small knick knacks.

_That's odd_, Hermione thought, racking her brain.

She had been certain that she had taken off her choker right before she'd fallen asleep. Climbing to her feet, Hermione mentally retraced her steps from last night. She'd finished her rounds early last night and had gone to the library to return her copy of _Wuthering Heights_to Madame Pince and met Ginny outside her dorm. Exhausted and defeated after a long day of essay writing and "girly fun", she had peeled off her sweater, tossing it carelessly at the foot of her bed. Then, she had undressed, unclasped her choker, placed it on her vanity, and crawled into bed. Ginny nodded off almost instantly and Hermione was too keyed up to sleep, so she had read a few pages out of _An __Anthology of Medieval Charms _before turning off her lamp and retiring for the night.

She _had_ taken it off. So, now the question was: _where was it?_

"Gin?" Hermione asked, turning toward her flustered friend.

Ginny grunted in response.

"_Gin_," Hermione pressed, kicking a pile of her friend's clothes at the redhead to grab her attention.

Mildly disgruntled, Ginny's body snapped toward Hermione, her thin dark eyebrows pulled together in stress.

"What?" she quipped, her cheeks blotchy and pink.

Hermione gestured to her vanity. "Have you seen my necklace?"

"What necklace?" asked Ginny contemptuously.

Reminding herself to keep calm and ignore Ginny's annoying attitude, Hermione gestured again to her vanity.

"The necklace I've been wearing lately," she responded lightly, keeping her voice calm. "The fancy one? I placed it on my vanity before I went to sleep. I was wondering if you'd seen where it went? It seems to have gone missing."

Ginny gazed at her for several seconds. Hermione shifted under her gaze, making sure her hair was covering her neck.

"Well, it didn't just up and walk off in the middle of the night," said Ginny sourly, returning to her wand search. "So, it must be around there somewhere."

With a sigh, Hermione turned her back on Ginny and slung her bag over her shoulder. With a swift kick from Hermione's shoe, Ginny's wand scampered across the floor and hit her unceremoniously on the elbow.

"There's your wand," Hermione said tersely, heading out of her room. "Mind you don't lose it again, yes?"

She ignored the redhead's pout and shut the door.

The hallways were buzzing with social energy as Hermione made her way to breakfast. The Great Hall was noisier than usual and Hermione had to wonder what all the excitement was about. Several third year Ravenclaws sniggered as Hermione walked past them. She turned around with furrowed eyebrows and the three blond Ravenclaw girls giggled into their napkins, avoiding her eyes.

Hermione began to feel incredibly odd as she approached Neville and Fay Dunbar, noticing with alarm that _she_ seemed to be the source of gossip. Even the Gryffindors were staring at her oddly.

"That is a load of sodding codswallop! You take that back you slimy little fop, or I'll wring your neck until you sprout prune juice!" Neville shouted suddenly, banging his fist on the wooden table as he leapt from his seat, nearly knocking over his goblet of pumpkin juice as he lunged toward a Gryffindor fifth year.

"You asked!" the boy said and jumped away from Neville's chokehold, running to sit at the opposite end of the table.

Fay looked equally perturbed, but she shoved Neville down into his seat and punched him roughly on the arm, shaking her head. "Sit _down_. Don't be a fool. You _did_ ask why he was laughing."

"Morning," Hermione greeted uncertainly as she sat down next to a very harassed looking Neville.

Neville's eyes widened. "Er—hello, Hermione."

"What is going on?" asked Hermione, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Nothing," Neville said, looking nervous.

"Oh?" she challenged, narrowing her eyes at him. "Really? Because it seems that in the last few minutes, I've become the source of gossip in this school, and you two both seem to know why, so why don't you enlighten me?"

Fay and Neville anxiously exchanged glances.

"Go on," Fay urged. "She practically witnessed you try and take off a bloke's head, so you might as well just tell her. Better she hear it from us than someone else."

Neville cleared his throat and said, "Well, it's nothing really, just a bit of gossip—"

"_Tell me_," she demanded, trying her best to ignore the gasps from behind her as the news apparently reached several other students.

"There's a rumor going around that you slept with Kartrick," Neville informed her resentfully.

"We both know it's not true, of course, because we both know you'd never even consider—" Fay started.

But Hermione wasn't listening. Her veins were exploding in molten lava, her ears boiling in scalding water as she steamed. Her fingers curled tightly until she could feel her fingernails digging deeply into the flesh of her clammy palm. Momentarily blinded by her rage, she quivered in her seat.

"You okay, Mione?" Neville asked.

"_Who_?" she ground out as her vision slowly returned.

"Who what?" Neville asked, oblivious.

"I think she means who started the rumor, Nev," Day explained, sensing Hermione's irritation.

She waited, glaring at the friends, silently demanding an answer.

"We don't know who started the rumor, but we're guessing it was probably a Slytherin," Fay told her and Hermione's eyes immediately shot toward the enemy table behind her, drinking in the green-clad students, searching for any sign that would give away the culprit.

As she scanned the table, her eyes locked with a pair of tired quicksilver orbs, looking directly at her. They were the eyes of Draco Malfoy, who seemed to have just head the news himself. To her surprise, he wasn't smirking as she guessed he would have been. Pansy looked tired and annoyed as the girl next to her tried and failed to get a reaction from Pansy. Pansy's indigo eyes pranced over to Hermione briefly before she rolled her eyes and told the girl that it obviously wasn't true because Hermione wouldn't have the "wit". Draco continued to stare at Hermione, his eyes unreadable, his face expressionless and stone cold. Next to him, Blaise Zabini sat with a bored look on his face, also uncharacteristically unfazed by the rumor going around their table.

"Unless it was Kartrick himself," Neville suggested darkly.

Hermione's honey eyes snapped back toward him.

"What makes you think that he would start a rumor like this?" Hermione wondered, glancing down the table to see if Pieter was anywhere in sight; he wasn't.

Hermione hadn't seen Pieter outside of classes, actually.

Neville and Fay looked at her as if she'd grown three heads.

"You're joking, right?" Neville laughed humorlessly. "The bloke is obsessed with you, Hermione. Everyone can see that."

"But why would he—?"

Frustrated, Hermione broke off from her sentence and rose from her seat, earning questioning looks from Neville and Fay.

"I'm going to class," Hermione informed them.

"You haven't eaten anything," Neville objected.

"I suddenly have no appetite," Hermione told him and trying to keep the remains of her pride intact, turned on her heel and exited the Great Hall.

She ignored the snickers and the wide eyes as she briskly walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, heading to the dungeons in more haste than she'd ever thought possible. She was certain that Potions wouldn't make her feel any better, but she didn't care.

"She would _never_ do that," said Rosemary Delmond, the blonde fifth year known for her constantly nervous attitude. "Don't you know who she is? That's _Hermione Granger_. She would never do something so scandalous and with someone like that."

"You were just telling me how much you think she and Draco Malfoy would look cute together!" Rosemary's friend argued. "And he's now so much better than Pieter Kartrick?"

_So much better_, Hermione thought despite herself.

Outside the dungeons, several Slytherin boys were waiting in the dimly lit corridor, leaning casually against the wall and talking quietly. When they spotted her they smirked, but strangely did nothing. She spotted Draco leaning against the opposite wall, talking quietly with Astoria Greengrass.

The clock tower uttered a loud _boom_, issuing the beginning of class. She followed Astoria into the dungeon and slipped into the seat next to Neville.

"We're doing the Draught of Living Death, today. Should I go get the ingredients or you?" he asked and Hermione quickly scanned the blackboard.

"I will," Hermione said and headed for the storage room.

As she walked toward the storage room, she noticed Draco Malfoy arguing with Astoria about something before finally throwing his hands up in the air and walking briskly in Hermione's direction. Quickly, Hermione began to gather the ingredients for the potion, but it wasn't quick enough. When Draco noticed Hermione, he stepped backward slightly, swallowing deeply as he looked at her.

She suddenly felt incredibly hot, as if someone had placed her in a furnace, and self-conscious. For some reason she found herself wondering if he had heard the rumors and if he believed them or not. But why did it _matter_ to her what he thought? It was only Draco.

_Pull yourself together, Hermione_, she thought quickly.

"Granger," he greeted hoarsely.

"Hello, Draco," she said quietly, unsure of what to do next.

Before he could come up with another thing to say, Hermione plucked a bottle of Doxy eggs off the shelf and quickly pushed past him, brushing his shoulder accidentally as she did so. It was enough to feel him go rigid next to her. She paused and turned back to him only slightly, confused at his reaction, but then tossed her confusion away. What did it matter?

As she passed his desk, Professor Slughorn glanced up at her, but she was shocked when she saw his usually warm eyes were full of a foreign expression. They held no warmth or kindness within them; instead they narrowed at her as she passed with a look of disappointment so powerful, it made the very marrow in her bones quiver. And just as soon as it had happened, it disappeared, almost as if it had never been there at all. Hermione was sure she had imagined it, but nonetheless, she was pale and shaky as she returned to Neville.

"You okay?" he asked and Hermione unceremoniously dropped their ingredients onto the table and took her seat.

"Honestly? I'm having the worst day imaginable," Hermione confessed, running a hand through her thick honey tresses.

"Because of the rumor?" Neville asked, dumping in the bottle of crushed snake fangs into the cauldron.

Hermione nodded.

"So, is that all or is there something else on your mind?" Neville prodded, knowing her all too well.

Hermione hesitated, which she found odd, because she couldn't fully understand why she did so.

"Well, Draco Malfoy has been acting very strange lately, have you noticed?"

Neville quirked an eyebrow as he stirred the gray mixture in the cauldron. Hermione added the sloth brains, plugging her nose as she did so, and pretended to act as casual as possible. She couldn't help feel the heat rushing through her body as Neville continued to stare at her, though.

"I _have_ noticed, yes," he said slowly, trying to understand, "but I don't understand why that should be perplexing you."

"It's not," Hermione said hastily. "It's just confusing, because he's suddenly acting so, I don't know, decent."

"Malfoy? Decent?" Neville laughed. "Isn't that a good thing? Haven't you been trying to get closer to him?"

"Closer?"

"Just meaning that you were trying to get him to see that things would work out better if you two were civilized."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, it is a nice change."

"I reckon he's got a bit of a thing for you, Hermione."

Hermione spun around at this, staring at him.

"What on earth would possess you to say something so incredibly silly, Neville?" Hermione asked dubiously.

"Well, honestly, I wouldn't blame him if he did," Neville said and Hermione blushed. "But he's been acting strange, lately, you said it yourself. _Nice,_ if that's what you want to call it. And I have come to the conclusion that he fancies you."

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

Hermione was getting a headache.

"Have you noticed how much he looks at you these days? How he's _always_ everywhere you are?" Neville pointed out.

"Honestly, it's just a coincidence," Hermione argued, but he rolled his eyes. "Really, it is. I mean, we're Heads together. He's in three of my classes. I live with him and do patrols with him and now the Slytherins are practically everywhere the Gryffindors are due to McGonagall's need for unity."

"Hermione, from personal experience, I think I know an infatuated bloke when I see one," Neville said and then nodded toward something across the room . "And I rest my case."

Hermione glanced over at where Neville had been looking and Hermione felt as if she'd been shoved into a furnace again as her eyes met with Draco Malfoy's. When he saw that she was looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze, suddenly very intrigued by his finished potion.

"This is absurd," Hermione protested, elbowing Neville roughly. "He's only looking at me because of the rumor."

"Right, and every day when he looks at you, it is because of a rumor. He looks at you every day, 'Mione."

Hermione scoffed.

"Hey, I never said I _liked_ that Malfoy's new interest happens to be you, Hermione," Neville said and his nose twisted up at the thought. "But I wouldn't blame him."

Unreasonably irritated by the conversation, Hermione drained her potion into a vial and walked briskly up to Professor Slughorn, handing it to him. He regarded her for a moment, taking her vial, and then went back to ignoring the world. Somewhat wounded by his aloofness, Hermione sank back into her seat, feeling very confused.

Later, in Defense, Ginny came up to her.

"I'm really sorry for this morning, 'Mione," she said softly.

"Don't worry about it," Hermione brushed it off, smiling. "We all have those mornings."

They shared a smile and reconciled silently.

"How are you? You seemed a bit on edge this morning," Ginny said.

"I've just been having a hard day," Hermione told her and Ginny prodded her to continue.

"Well, there's this rumor going around the school saying I slept with Pieter Kartrick," Hermione explained, grimacing as she said it.

"Are you kidding me?" Ginny exclaimed loudly, turning to stare at Hermione. "You mean to tell me that people actually believe you shagged with that freak?"

Hermione's eyes clamped shut in mortification as the room suddenly became church silent. Hermione's eyes flickered toward Professor Thorne, whose jaw was clenched tightly as he stared at them. She wondered if he had heard about the rumor. From his reaction, it seemed he had.

"Sorry," Ginny whispered and Hermione nodded tightly. "Where is that creep anyway?"

Hermione shrugged, scanning the classroom. His seat was empty.

"I don't know. I didn't see him at breakfast either."

Ginny shook her head and then said, "Well, anyway, go on."

"So, there's the rumor problem," Hermione continued quietly, "and unfortunately, I think Professor Thorne might believe Pieter and I had something."

"You're kidding," Ginny scoffed, but then she looked up at the tense Professor Thorne, scribbling away in his daybook with his black quill, and she frowned. "But why would he think that? You're his star student and Kartrick's a creep. Thorne adores you, you know that. He's probably just having a rough day, like you are. I'm sure you're just taking everything personally because loads of rubbish has already been thrown at you today. Please, don't worry about it, okay? Thorne would never think of you in any low respect."

Hermione hoped her words were true.

Their lesson consisted of dueling, again, but it wasn't as competitive as it had been the first day they dueled in class. Halfway through the lesson, Pieter Kartrick walked in.

Hermione swallowed painfully, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe properly. He made no attempt to even look at her, which Hermione was grateful for, but his very presence was distracting to her.

Just her luck, when they switched partners, Pieter Kartrick was instructed to be hers. Hermione gulped, half considering asking Thorne to change them, but then it was too late. She blocked most of his spells, but she was very distracted. Her mind kept replaying him on top of her, squeezing her neck, raising his wand.

She almost didn't see it. Almost didn't see him slash his wand in a very direct motion across her chest. Almost didn't see the purple flame-like light erupt from the tip of his wand. _Almost._

But she caught the dangerous curse almost reflexively and blocked it expertly.

"How _dare_ you!" Hermione exclaimed savagely.

Two mats down from her, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson stopped their movements to stare at the pair of them.

"I'll be right back," Draco told her, stepping past her.

Hermione was visibly shaking now, either in fear or anger, she couldn't tell which. Pieter had tried cursing her with a curse much more alarming to her than _Crucio_. He had used the curse that Antonin Dolohov had used on her back in her fifth year in the Department of Mysteries, which caused incredible internal pain which made her sore for days afterward.

"You are _awful_," she snarled. "You seriously picked the wrong witch to toy with, bastard."

Draco, obviously having overheard their exchange, gave her a look of surprise and pride.

"Did he hurt you?" Draco asked, coming to her side.

"No, I blocked him," Hermione responded tightly, her wand still trained on Pieter.

"You're very stupid, aren't you?" Draco taunted Pieter harshly. "Strangling her wasn't enough, now you have to use Dark Magic on her in public? Are you that idiotic?"

Pieter glared at him. "You don't scare me or intimidate me, or really even affect me at all. In fact, you make me laugh. I feel bad for you. You're a pitiful, weak, pathetic mess. Poor Malfoy, spurned by his very own daddy, too much of a coward to even stand up for the Dark Lord."

"Shut up," Draco hissed.

"Draco, just let it go," Hermione insisted. "He's just trying to rile you up."

"And as for _her_," Pieter said, gesturing toward Hermione and smiling wickedly. "I quite enjoy what I do to her. She'll never be able to get rid of me, or prevent the plans I have for her. She wants the danger, deep down inside. She burns for it, to taste that darkness again."

Hermione's breath hitched in her chest.

"You stay away from her, you hear me?" Draco snapped, shoving him forcefully.

"You don't have the spine, you pathetic little boy," Pieter laughed manically. "You'd shrivel up like the scared little prune you are, just like your miserable excuse of a father you look up to so much, just like your weak skinned, push over mother—"____  
><em>___

There was a sickening crack as Draco's fist collided hard with Pieter's face. Both boys went down immediately, toppling into desks and knocking chairs over, both screaming at each other.

"That is _quite_ enough!" Professor Thorne yelled above the ruckus. "I've had enough of the pair of you. Both of you will be seeing me tonight for detention, am I understood? Right, then, everyone get back to work. Mr. Katrick, come with me."

Pieter didn't budge.

"_Now_."

Pieter resentfully followed Thorne out of the room. After a few minutes and Thorne still not returning, the class assumed that Thorne had taken Pieter to McGonagall's office and began to converse. Hermione spotted Draco a few paces away, talking with Pansy, who was mending his nose. After several minutes, Pansy left his side and came to hers.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked.

"Since when do you care?" Hermione asked.

She shrugged. "I don't really care. I just know how it is to deal with that creep."

Hermione smiled. "I'm alright."

"So, I heard that you were sexing it up with the Goth kid," Pansy drawled, smirking.

"You must need to get your hearing checked, Parkinson," Hermione replied, smirking as well, "because what you just told me is incredibly and grossly false."

"Is it? I'm not so sure. All those _long_ nights in the library, those _close_ encounters, those _passionate_ stares," Pansy said overdramatically, earning several giggles from several girls behind her. "Such intensity usually leads to nights of passion."

"And what would you possibly know about passion, Parkinson?" came Ginny's laugh. She stood next to Hermione possessively, crossing her arms across her chest. "From what _I_ hear, you haven't been laid in almost a year. It seems that you've become lonely lately, Parkinson. You've resulted in pleasuring _yourself_. How pitiful."

Pansy's indigo eyes flashed and she took a threatening step toward Ginny, but Hermione quickly stepped in front.

"She's just joking, Gin," Hermione muttered.

The redhead continued staring down Pansy until Pansy finally shrugged and walked away.

"I bet you're disappointed that Professor Thorne doesn't consider you his little pet anymore, aren't you?" Romilda Vane said, spitting daggers at Hermione. "Can't have your way when your favorite professor sees you for who you really are."

"And what would that be?" Hermione scoffed.

"A _slut_," Romild answered bitterly. "A pathetic little _slut_ who can't even seduce the men she wants to because she's such a louse."

"Yeah, she's the one who asked me for the Muggle pregnancy test," Gina chimed in, snickering. "Wasn't really for your _friend, _was it, Granger?"

Hermione nearly choked. Her eyes automatically raced toward Pansy, who was standing only a few steps away. Her jaw clenched and her indigo eyes seared into hers.

"Do you even know _how _to have sex, Granger? A foul prude like you—"

Romilda's statement was suddenly lost as she was roughly shoved aside. Several girls gasped. Draco Malfoy stood at his full height, glaring down at Romilda, who seemed so small and fragile in that moment as she stared into his steel eyes.

"Back off," he hissed blackly, his voice laced with venom.

"W—What?" Romilda stuttered, not believing her ears.

"I said," he repeated crossly, "_leave her alone._ Understand?"

Instead of waiting for Romilda's reply, he came to stand by Hermione and Ginny and his expression, which had only moments before been dangerous and terrifying, was soft and etched with an expression foreign to his features—concern.

A jolt rocketed through Hermione as he suddenly clasped her hand in his. He stood so close to her that no one would have been able to see his actions.

"Are you all right?" he whispered in her ear and she shivered as his breath, positively drowning in the cool and comforting scent of spearmint, tickled the hairs on her neck.

She managed a nod, her entire body frozen in some warped, unexplainable paralysis. Distantly, she heard the sound of the bell, issuing the end of class. She barely caught sight of his ring as he brought their hands up to inspect. The ring, which had been emerald green an hour ago, was now a bloody crimson. And then, all too abruptly, he straightened elegantly, his face calm and expressionless, and turned on his heel, disappearing down the corridor.

Obviously angered by this exchange, Romilda stepped forward and shoved Hermione openly. Her eyes were like the arctic wind as they pierced into Hermione's.

"I will destroy your life," she hissed and then gave Hermione another shove before stalking away. "Stay away from Pieter."

Next to her, Ginny gaped at her.

"What the hell was that?" Ginny exclaimed, watching Romilda leave.

"I told you it's been an odd day," Hermione whispered, trying to decipher the very same thing.

"There better not be something going on between you and Draco, Granger," Pansy said, coming up to her again. "I don't understand why he's suddenly so concerned about you, but you should just leave him alone."

"You're obviously mad," Ginny scoffed. "Hermione wants nothing to do with Malfoy."

"Was I including you in this conversation, Weasley?" Pansy quipped and then turned to Hermione again, her face softening. "Look, I'm serious. He doesn't need any more interference from you right now. He's got enough on his plate. Plus, he's not even interested in you that way. I see the way you look at him, like you think he's one of the next groupies in the Potter gang just because he's turned his life around."

"It's not like that."

"I'll make certain of that," Pansy declared before turning on her heel and heading down the corridor in search of Draco.

* * *

><p>Hermione ended up skipping lunch, which probably wasn't the best idea considering she hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, but she didn't care. She'd had enough of the stares and the whispers, and she'd had enough of the 'Draco fancies Hermione' theories that Neville and Ginny were now weaving together. Quite honestly, it was turning Hermione's headache into a fierce migraine.<p>

Instead, Hermione spent the remainder of her lunch walking outside. The sky above was a canvas of dark gray dotted with massive, purple storm clouds. It started to sprinkle, tiny water droplets dripping onto her curls. She hadn't thought to bring her cloak outside, but what was the harm? It was just rain.

Alone to her thoughts, Hermione continued her peaceful walk, breathing in the beautiful smell of rain against the grass. She was suddenly brought back to when Draco had whispered to her, asking if she was okay. Her stomach quivered as she remembered what he smelled like. Spearmint. Her favorite scent in the whole world.

"Get out of my head," Hermione whispered frantically and turned the corner of the castle sharply, not even bothering to look and see what was around her. She should have been paying attention, otherwise what happened next would never have happened.

She crashed into something and bounded backward by the force, only to realize with horror that the something she had run into was in fact a some_one_. And it wasn't just _any _someone. It was Pieter Kartrick.

"You," Hermione croaked, stumbling backward.

He looked truly creepy, standing there in the rain in his robes, his black cloak wrapped tightly around his body. His pale, spidery hand was clutching his wand fiercely and his soulless, black eyes were twitching underneath his long, black hair. His skin was pasty, as if he'd been outside in the cold all day and had frozen to death. When he saw Hermione, his chalky lips curled slowly into a sinister smile.

"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be inside?" Hermione stuttered.

Had he been outside all this time?

Pieter laughed and the sound was like nails down a chalkboard. He stared at her blackly.

"I've been sketching," he answered in a dead whisper, taking a step toward her, gesturing to the sketchbook on the grass several feet away. His charcoal pencils were strewn across the green grass, standing out like eyesores. "One of my charcoal sticks has gone missing, you see. And I'm not very happy about it. You didn't take it, did you? Like you and your prying friend took the rest of my drawings?"

Hermione shook her head fiercely, staring at the sketchbook with her lips pursed, memories of what lie inside that black book slamming into her head. She suddenly felt very queasy and not at all safe. Unconsciously, she reached into her robes and pressed her fingers to her wand for reassurance. Certainly he wouldn't try anything.

But why wouldn't he? He'd already strangled her in a library and tried cursing her in class. What wouldn't he be capable of doing on the deserted grounds, when no one was around but them?

"Stay away from me," Hermione commanded, but it hardly sounded menacing; her voice trembled and squeaked. He didn't pay her any mind and advanced toward her again. She brandished her wand. "I mean it. Leave me alone. Or I'll tell a teacher."

He lurched forward, alarming her. Her heart shot into a cascade of frenzy, bobbing around in her chest. His eyes darkened.

"You wouldn't dare," he said in a sibilant tone, making her bones crawl. "You're far too weak."

He straightened, lifting his face toward the rain and allowing it to splatter across his pasty cheeks. His eyes closed and he breathed in deeply.

"Mmm, can you smell that in the air, Granger?" he suddenly said, a twisted smiled curving its way along his face.

"W—What are you talking about?" she quaked.

Everything was telling her to run, but she couldn't move.

"The evil rising up, bubbling out of their graves? Can you smell the danger, Granger?" he whispered darkly and then laughed manically. "Funny, that rhymes. You like poetry, don't you?"

Her world froze and her heart crashed to the ground. Poetry. It couldn't be. No, it couldn't be Pieter Kartrick. Her secret admirer simply couldn't be—

"_What_?" she snapped.

His onyx eyes locked with hers and he took a daring step forward, so close that she could feel his breath on her neck. Thankfully, in that moment, Hermione's body decided to cooperate with her, and she fled inside the castle. She didn't stop running until she slammed into Neville.

"Hermione?" Neville said. "What are you doing up here? I'm the one with the free period today. Don't you have Charms—what happened? What's wrong?"

He was at her side in seconds, taking in the soaking, shivering Hermione.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Neville demanded.

Hermione didn't even have the heart to scold him about swearing. Instead, she recounted everything that had just happened, telling Neville about her encounter.

"So, Kartrick is the secret admirer," Neville said, his jaw tightening.

Hermione shrugged, uttering another strangled sob.

"I can't be sure."

Neville rubbed her shoulders.

"What's that?" Hermione asked suddenly, pointing to the piece of paper drifting through the hallway toward them.

Neville was hesitant. "I think it's another secret admirer note, but I'll rip it up."

"No," Hermione said, determined. "No, give it to me."

Neville obliged and Hermione unfolded the note. The moment she read it, she wished she hadn't. She let it flutter to the ground and gave a horrified, strangled cry, as if she were being drowned.

On the note it read, "Time is waring thin. You will be _mine_."

And at the very bottom, sprawled in familiar ink, it said, "Or die."


	17. Scars

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Oh, my lovely readers, how I love you! Please, continue to read and review and I will continue to give you my love. There is one thing that I would like to bring to attention, however. Some reviewers have expressed how they feel Hermione is being too weak. I'd just like to defend this decision by saying, she's not really being weak.

She's messed up and she's being very strong by trying not to completely fall apart. She's been through a serious trauma that she tries very hard to block out of her mind and repress. Hermione is, I suppose, being "weak" because she went through hell, and she's not prepared to face it or go back there again. She pretends it isn't happening in order to stay strong. She freezes up because she remembers flashes of what happened to her and she doesn't know how to handle it.

But, that's just me, haha. Rant over! Thanks for your thoughts and for the awesome reviews! I love you all!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Sixteen<span>_

_Scars_

* * *

><p><em>It's a thief in the night to come and grab you<em>

_It can creep up inside you and consume you_

_A disease of the mind, it can control you_

_It's too close for comfort  
><em>

__"Disturbia"_—Rhianna_  
><em>_

* * *

><p>"<em>Boo!<em>"

Hermione nearly jumped right out of her skin as the second years behind her laughed hysterically, proud of themselves for scaring someone. They darted off in the other direction and she let out a deep breath. She really hated Halloween. Before, Halloween had been one of her favorite holidays, but not anymore.

Breakfast at Hogwarts was full of excitement for the Hogsmeade trip that day. Hermione sighed, sticking her fork into her eggs unhappily. It wasn't that she was unhappy for everyone and their dates to Hogsmeade—she thought the scramble to get a date for the one day visit was actually pretty amusing—but she couldn't help feeling lonely, especially since no one had asked her to the ball yet either. And sadly, she realized, there was no Viktor Krum to ask her last minute this time.

"Why the long face, 'Mione?" asked Ginny, pulling her out of her thoughts as her red haired friend sat down.

"Hm? Oh, nothing," she recovered quickly. "I was just thinking."

"About the ball?" she guessed and she laughed. She knew her too well.

"Was I that obvious?" she asked, blushing.

Ginny smiled and wrapped her arm around her, immediately making her feel better. She always knew exactly what to do to cheer her up, even by the simplest of means.

"Did you drop this?" Ginny asked, brandishing a dark silk scarf.

It was Hermione's scarf—the purple one she'd been given on her birthday two years previous from her mother.

"When did I drop that?" Hermione gasped, taking the scarf. "I didn't even notice it was gone. Thank you so much!"

"It was in the hallway, just outside the Great Hall and I knew it was yours," Ginny explained. "I knew you'd be mad if you lost it. Oh, and hey, don't worry about the ball. Someone will ask you."

"What about that secret admirer of yours?" chimed in Fay Dunbar, slipping into her seat at the table. "He's bound to ask you, isn't he?"

Hermione visibly paled, her blood like ice cutting through her veins. Luckily, Ginny didn't notice. She returned to cutting up her sausage as if nothing had happened. Across the table Neville's eyes were etched with worry, most likely mirroring her own.

"You haven't told them yet?" he mouthed.

Hermione shook her head.

"What good would it do?" Hermione whispered, shrugging.

"You'd have more than just me on your side, that's what good it would do," Neville responded, his eyes flickering over to Ginny. "It's not just some prank, Hermione. Someone threatened your life. You need to tell Ginny."

"Why? What good will that do? So she can go back to worrying about poor little me again?" Hermione scoffed, shaking her head. "It's nothing that I can't handle."

Hermione sighed, deciding to drop it. The topic of her secret admirer turned psycho really didn't make her mood lift.

"On a side note, ferret boy is staring at you again, 'Mione," Neville said conversationally, filling up his goblet with more pumpkin juice.

Hermione turned in her seat and glanced at the Slytherin. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy was staring at her. She furrowed her eyebrows, wondering what he was thinking, and then shook her head, watching as he stood up elegantly and walked out of the Great Hall, his head bowed. She finished her breakfast and stood up, issuing her goodbyes to her friends. But before she could make her exit, Romilda Vane stopped her in her tracks.

"What do you want?" Hermione sighed, crossing her arms.

"Hello to you too," she said, grinning triumphantly. "How are you?"

"I'm well, and yourself?" Hermione said icily.

"I'm good," she responded cheekily. "Have you been asked to the ball yet?"

Hermione shook her head, her eyes tightening. "No, I haven't."

"Not that big of a surprise," Romilda chirped, patting her on the shoulder. "Someone will turn up, I'm sure."

"Well, it's been grand, but I have an appointment to keep," Hermione said, stepping around the curly haired beauty.

Romilda shuffled in her pocket and brought out a thin blue piece of paper.

"Before I forget, this is for you," she said, grabbing her arm roughly and placing the paper in her hand. "What, did you think I'd stop to just make idle chit chat with you? Good Lord, you are sad."

Hermione's hands shook, glaring down at the blue piece of paper.

"Who has been giving these to you?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice calm and composed.

Romilda squinted at the note and shook her head, smirking at her. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, actually, and I have every right to know," Hermione snapped. "So, why don't you tell me?"

"I'm no snitch, princess. Maybe I enjoy watching you suffer and worry."

"Don't call me that," Hermione hissed, giving the girl a shove.

"Touched a sore spot, did I?" Romilda chuckled. "Oh, and I was asked to give this to you, as well. They said that you'd dropped it? Next time, I'd be a bit more mindful of expensive things like this. Someone might not be too keen to give it back."

It took all that she had not to scream. Instead, she snatched the black ribboned choker from Romilda's hand before hurrying toward the two oak doors of the Great Hall. She felt panicked and terrified as she unfolded the note and quickly read it.

* * *

><p><em>Misplace something?<em>

_Can't get rid of me that easy._

_"Invisible things are the only realities."_

_Now you see me, now you don't._

_—Me_

* * *

><p>Hermione shook as she stuffed the note inside her pocket. He had written her a line from Edgar Allan Poe, again.<p>

Before anyone could detect her impending breakdown, she hurled herself out of the doors. When she exited the Great Hall, she was shocked to see Malfoy leaning against the wall, as if he was waiting for her. And sure enough, he was.

"Granger," he said, pushing himself off the wall.

"Draco," she countered shakily, confused as she walked past him, trying to compose herself. She wondered if he had seen her reading the note.

He fell into step next to her.

"I need to talk to you."

"I'm not your shrink, Draco," Hermione told him lightly, heading in the direction to meet Pansy. "If you're truly going crazy, you should go talk to Madame Pomfrey or something."

"You're going to die."

It was like she'd been slapped in the face. Suddenly, the note she had received threatening her life slammed into her head, making it throb. The note in her pocket seemed to weigh at least fifty pounds. With an intensity she didn't even expect, she spun around, rounding on the tall Slytherin.

Had he been the one sending these to her? Was this all some game to just mess with her?

"_What_ did you just say?" she hissed, looking up into his handsome, pointed face.

"I know it sounds crazy," he started, "but I've been having these dreams."

"Yes, I know. You were hospitalized with chronic nightmares, Draco. I already know this."

"Granger, please just hear me out. It's vital that I talk to you. I—please—Granger, stop!"

His voice caught, uncharacteristically desperate.

Hermione had heard enough. She was not in the mood.

"Draco, I'm busy," she said stiffly. "I have to meet Pansy in three minutes. We'll talk later, okay?"

She turned around and began stalking off in the other direction, but Draco was persistent. He grabbed her elbow and yanked her back roughly, his grip tightening when she struggled.

"_Listen, _damn it," he growled, his eyes burning into hers with a deep emotion, his guard completely down. "You have to believe me."

"Draco, seriously, enough," Hermione snapped. "I've had enough with people playing with my head. I'm leaving, so go away. I said we will talk later."

"Someone is going to try and kill you!" he shouted at her, shaking her roughly. "Don't you see? You're going to die."

As if only then realizing what he had said, he released her and stared at her with wide, nervous gray eyes.

"That came out much different than I wanted it to," he stated, backpedaling. "Look, Granger, is there a place we can go to talk—?"

"You stay the hell away from me," she breathed, horrified by his words, and ran down the corridor, away from Draco Malfoy and his wide, desperate steel gray eyes.

* * *

><p>"Should we go check out that store over there?"<p>

Hermione scratched her neck, crossing another item off their list.

"We've still got time, might as well," Hermione agreed and they opened the door to the next store.

The bell jingled above them and the elderly man behind the counter greeted them.

"I know they've got all sorts of things here," Pansy told her. "We agreed on magical gems, so maybe we can find something here."

"Absolutely," Hermione agreed and then headed up to the counter with Pansy.

"Excuse me, sir?" asked Pansy. "Do you by chance have any gems with magical properties or anything like that?"

The man behind the counter nodded. "Certainly, dearies. Here, let me show you where they are."

The man led them to the back of the store, where he opened a glass cupboard with a key from his pocket. The gems were covered in dust and all seated upon a velvet cushion with little tags on them detailing their prices and what type they were.

"Awesome," Pansy expressed once the man had left. "There's so many."

"Yes, but we need something really unique. Something, perhaps, that we haven't heard of in class."

"I'm sure we'll find something. Let's see, they've got blue topaz, black quartz, onyx—you know onyx has really powerful properties," Pansy said.

Hermione shook her head. "Yeah, it's just too obvious. Is that a _pink_ crystal?"

"Strange," Pansy said, picking it up and then hissing. Smoke unfurled from her fingers and she immediately dropped the pink stone. "Sweet Merlin that hurt."

"Protective charm?" Hermione wondered. "Do they all do that?"

They each took turns picking up different gems.

"Nope, only that one," Pansy said. "Definitely not that stone."

"There's not that much with really special properties—"

"Hey, look at this," Pansy cut her off. "There's one missing!"

Hermione followed Pansy's gaze and her eyes landed on the empty slot in the cushion.

"Alexandrite," Hermione said, reading the tag.

"Damn, that thing's expensive," Pansy declared, her indigo eyes widening as she looked at the tag. "Have you ever even heard of it before?"

Hermione shook her head.

"No, I haven't. But why has it not been replaced? It's obvious this cupboard hasn't been touched or cleaned in years," Hermione said.

They decided to ask this very same question to the clerk up front.

"Alexandrite, you say?" the clerk repeated, checking his books. "Yes, it was the most unique gem we've ever had. Been in the store for centuries. Never really knew much about it, only that is was in very high demand in the Dark Ages. There's very few gems left."

"So, where is it now?" Pansy huffed and shared a look with Hermione.

The clerk quickly scanned his book.

"Let's see," he said, trailing his finger down the page. "Ah, here we are. Take a look for yourself. It was bought for double its price back in 1945."

Pansy and Hermione furrowed their brow.

"1945? And you still haven't replaced it?" Pansy said.

"Like I said, it's very rare. We haven't been able to find another since."

"And does it state who the buyer was?" Hermione asked.

The clerk passed the book over to them and Hermione scanned the names.

"Holy bloody shit," Pansy gasped and Hermione covered her mouth. "You've got to be kidding me."

_March 18th, 1945—Alexandrite Gem—Priced 440.51 Pounds—Tom M. Riddle._

"What the hell did Voldemort want with the Alexandrite stone?" Pansy whispered as they handed the clerk back his book and bid him a good day, moving away to the table by the window.

"I have no idea, but obviously it meant a great deal if an orphan boy with an addiction with Dark Magic bought it off before graduation," Hermione said.

"Knowledgable, aren't you?" Pansy said, looking at her strangely. "How do you know so much about Voldemort?"

"I helped Harry kill him with the information I gathered about him," Hermione deadpanned. "We made it our lives to know all we could about him."

"In order to defeat someone, you need to know the person better than himself," Pansy guessed. "Smart."

"Pansy," Hermione said softly, "I think we found our project."

Pansy nodded solemnly. "I can't turn down an opportunity like this. I have to know why that gem is so prized, why it's so rare."

"And why Voldemort wanted it so badly he was willing to buy the thing for double its price?" Hermione finished.

"Exactly," Pansy said. "Maybe it isn't the smartest thing, but it'll give us an advantage over everyone."

"I'll head over to the library sometime in the next week and see if I can dig anything up," Hermione said.

"Great, and I'll do the same and ask around—"

Suddenly, the bell above the door jingled and Astoria and Theodore Nott walked through the entrance. Hermione's eyes instantly flew to Pansy's face, just in time to see her pale and grow misty eyed. It was strange, seeing her actually show emotion.

"Are you okay?"

Hermione grabbed her hand.

"Don't touch me!" Pansy snarled, ripping her hand away and tearing out the store.

"Pansy—" Astoria cried out, reaching out for her friend, but she barely had time to scream out her name before Pansy slammed the door behind her and headed into the snow.

Hermione tore after her.

"Hey!" she called. "We still have work to do!"

Pansy spun around, nearly spitting as she screamed, "Screw you! I don't give a _damn_ about work right now. Just leave me the hell alone!"

Hermione took a deep breath, still following her partner.

"What's wrong, Pansy?"

"Nothing. Go away."

Pansy practically ripped the gate to the park right off its hinges. Hermione followed her, tracking stiffly through the snow toward the bench Pansy was now seated in.

"No," Hermione said. "It's obvious you need someone to talk to."

She scoffed.

"Don't act like we're friends, Granger. We _aren't_."

Hermione plopped down next to her. "I know that, but that doesn't mean I can't help you out."

"I'm sure you've already heard," Pansy laughed darkly, sniffing. "My cheapskate of a boyfriend, who helped turn my whole life around. My best friend. Now, they're crazy about each other and I no longer make him happy. How can that be? When I literally gave him everything I am and he made me so happy?"

"Obviously he didn't make you that happy," Hermione noted. "At least he hasn't been making you happy for a while. And that's why you've been spending so much time with Blaise."

"What do you even know about it?" Pansy scoffed. "It's not like I was cheating on Theo."

"No, I'm not insinuating you were," Hermione clarified. "I'm merely saying what I see. Blaise Zabini is one of your best friends. He makes you happy. And Theo didn't make you a better person—you did. It was easier for you to pretend it was all just Theo, because then you didn't have to admit to yourself that you were changing."

"You sound just like Blaise," Pansy snorted. "So sentimental and logical it drives me mad."

Hermione smiled. "He's a pretty great guy, as much as I hate to admit it."

Pansy raised her eyebrows and then sighed.

"You probably think I'm some kind of slut now."

"Why would I think that?"

"I let a man have everything I was to try and keep him, knowing all well that he wouldn't stay. And nearly had to face the brutal consequences of a loveless life with a man just like my scumbag of a father."

Hermione nodded, understanding what she meant and feeling horrible for her. She'd made love to him, thinking it would at least make him stay a little while longer. But it only made him leave sooner.

"No. I don't at all," Hermione assured her, bumping her with her elbow. "I think he's being a blind jerk and Astoria is being naive. And it's good that you aren't pregnant."

"I know you're the one who gave me the pregnancy test. It was kind of obvious after Gina blabbed to everyone how you asked specifically for a Muggle pregnancy test."

"I just thought it'd be helpful."

"Yeah and in return you get a filthy rumor spread about you," Pansy sighed, turning to look at Hermione. "You know, maybe I was wrong about you."

Hermione lifted her chin. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe you're not so much of a biased, judgmental prude after all," Pansy said.

"Gee, thanks, Parkinson," Hermione laughed.

"Truce?" Pansy asked, extending her hand.

Hermione shook her hand, smiling.

"Now, this doesn't mean we're friends," Pansy told her. "It just means that I'll be civil to you as long as you are civil to me."

"Sounds like a deal," Hermione agreed.

After catching a quick bite to eat at The Three Broomsticks, Pansy set off to meet up with Blaise and Draco. Hermione headed back to the castle as it started to snow, pulling her scarf around her hair so that it wouldn't frizz too much.

"Oh no!" Hermione cried suddenly as the wind whipped through her hair and carried her scarf away.

She frowned, watching the dark purple scarf dance away with the snow until it disappeared. Her mother had given her that scarf two birthdays ago and it had been her favorite. Disappointed, Hermione hurried back inside the castle. Once she arrived back in the Head dorm, she peeled off her wet clothes and turned on the shower.

Once she returned to her room, she noticed something was off.

The window was open, snow swirling into her room angrily. The wind picked up joyous laughter from students returning to the castle. She peered out her window, wondering if the latch was giving way or if the wind had just been strong enough to force the window open. Below, several girls were having a snowball fight, shrieking in delight.

Hermione forced her window shut, latching it. Huffing, she turned back around, only to stagger backward in alarm.

Sitting on her bed was a package wrapped messily in this mornings copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Shaking, she tore the wrapping off, wondering if she should wait to open it until there was someone with her, but then deciding against it. She didn't want to worry anyone else. She could handle it. She was strong.

Nestled in the package was her purple silk scarf, the one she'd lost almost a half hour previous. The one she had thought she would never see again. And underneath it rested a note.

"Not again," she choked out, opening the piece of paper.

* * *

><p><em>"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. <em>

_Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?"_

_You may think you can hide your bruises, but I will always know where your true scars lie._

—_Me_

* * *

><p>Hermione blanched, letting the line from Edgar Allan Poe slip through her fingers, but it wasn't that line that made her tremble and sweat form on her brow. It was the one below that.<p>

"You may think you can hide your bruises, but I will always know where your true scars lie," she gasped, reading the last line again and again.

There was only one person who knew about her scars. But it couldn't be. Not here. Not now.

"Not him."


	18. Help

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N: **Hey, hi, howdy! We passed the one hundred marker on reviews, guys! Even know how happy that makes me inside? Keep it up! If you guys have any questions or concerns just PM me or shoot me a review.

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Seventeen<span>_

_Help_

* * *

><p><em>The truth is hiding in your eyes<em>

_And it's hanging on your tongue_

_Just boiling in my blood_

_But you think that I can't see_

_What kind of man that you are_

_If you're a man at all_

_Well, I will figure this one out_

_On my own  
><em>

_"Decode"_—Paramore_  
><em>

* * *

><p>It was a dark, angry evening.<p>

Jagged bolts of lightning pierced the black clouds and struck the ground in fury. Thunder roared overhead, too close and too loud. Porcelain droplets of rain torrented down from the sky, shattering like fragile shards of glass once they hit the damp dirt.

Beside him stood a girl with rain drenched honey hair, wild from the moisture, and despondent ocher eyes. His heart stung inside his chest as she moved past him, the smell of her rose perfume lingering after her departure, burning his nostrils in the most pleasant of ways.

Hermione Granger.

"What's wrong?" he asked, coming to her side.

She looked almost transparent in the moonlight. He wanted to touch her, to see if she was real.

"I'm in danger, Draco, and you aren't doing anything to help me," she whispered softly, looking down at her shoes as she dug them into the mud.

"I'm _trying_," Draco argued, running a hand through his sleek hair, wet from the rain.

She smiled softly, halfheartedly, and caressed his cheek with her cold fingers.

"Come with me," she said quietly, taking his hand. "There's something you should see."

They walked down a stony path and the castle grew farther and farther away as they did. Soon, they were standing on the shores of the Black Lake. Draco gazed out into the onyx water, glimmering in the moonlight like a newly cut jewel.

"Why did you bring me here?" he inquired, watching as she lifted herself up onto the large boulder close to the water.

"This is a magical place," she answered mysteriously, tugging at her sleeves. "It is very special."

Before he could ask her what she meant, she looked at him in panic, tears brimming in her molten eyes.

"Something very bad is going to happen here," she whispered desperately, hopping off the boulder and walking up to him hastily.

She grabbed his arm, shaking him roughly.

"Something terrible," she continued, her voice raw. "Someone is going to die."

Suddenly, an ominous cloaked figure emerged from behind the boulder, seeming to appear from nothingness. It approached the beautiful, saddened Gryffindor, but strangely made no sound. She wasn't aware of its presence.

"Granger, watch out!" he hollered, grappling for his wand.

It was too late. The figure's long, pale fingers clenched around her delicate neck like an iron fetter. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and with one swift, agonizing motion, her vertabrae shattered. She crumpled to the soggy earth, stray pebbles gluing themselves to her robes, her ocher eyes forever mirroring her fear as she stared blankly up into the angry black sky.

_"No!"_

Draco awoke with a jolt, sweating. His chest heaved up and down in panicked motions, his heartbeat erratic. Tears prickled in his eyes, threatening to fall humiliatingly. Outside, the evening sky was dark and rumbling with a threat of rain and Draco clenched his jaw, trying to block out the thunder clamoring loudly outside his chamber.

With heated frustration, Draco tore the blankets from around his torso and threw them to the floor, scrambling to his feet. The ring on his finger seared uncomfortably and, angered, he ripped it off his finger.

"I _hate_ you," Draco snarled, throwing the blasted heirloom across the room.

It hit the wall with a loud _thunk_ and dropped to the floor. Grabbing his clothes, he stalked out of his room and into the bathroom. He figured that Hermione was at dinner, and he breathed in deeply, letting the door shut behind him in privacy. He walked slowly toward the sink and leaned over it, gripping either side of the basin, and stared at himself in the mirror, wanting to be sick.

What stared back at him nearly frightened him to death.

His reflection looked absolutely tortured. His gray eyes, normally bright and mocking, were shadowed and dark, angry red veins storming across the pale whites of his eyes. Heavy, dark rings circled his eyes and his cheeks were ashen, as if drained from all blood flow. Worry lines creased his forehead and tears were snaking their way down his lifeless cheeks. He swiped them away hastily.

"Stupid, Granger," he muttered, but as soon as he said it, he felt sick.

_What's happening to me?_ Draco thought desperately.

He couldn't even insult the very bane of his existence without feeling like someone had just jabbed him with a knife. Distantly, he heard the portrait hole swing shut and muttered footfalls on the carpet, quietly disappearing up the stairs seconds later. He figured Hermione had returned from dinner.

With a growl, Draco tore off his shirt and threw it to the ground before depositing the rest of his clothes and showering quickly. When he had finished, he dried off and dressed, running the towel over his blond hair.

When he returned to his bedroom, he was surprised to find Blaise sitting atop his bed, tossing Draco's ring from one brown hand to the other.

"I think you slept your entire Saturday away, Draco. I came up to drag your soggy arse to dinner. That, and check that you hadn't died," Blaise explained, holding out the ring. "Drop something?"

"I don't want it," Draco snarled, pushing past his friend. "You keep it."

"What's gotten into you lately, mate?" Blaise asked, alarmed.

"What are you talking about?" Draco demanded scathingly, turning around.

"Let's start with this ring," Blaise said, holding up the gold band. "What happened to everything we discussed? What happened to confronting Granger and helping her, no matter what? Are you willing to just let her die?"

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not _letting_ anything happen," Draco said hotly.

Blaise didn't seem to hear him, glaring at him coldly.

"After everything, what, you're just _giving up_?"

"I'm not bloody giving up on anything, damn it!" Draco shouted, annoyed by his friend.

Blaise held up the ring in his defense.

"Really? Because it sure seems like you are to me," countered Blaise, frowning. "So, why don't you tell me what's _really_ vexing you."

Draco sighed and sat down on his bed, placing his head in his hands.

"The ring is killing me, Blaise," Draco whispered miserably. "I can't sleep, because every time I close my eyes I see her face. I hear her voice, begging me to save her, and I don't know how I can."

"You're afraid you won't be able to save her," Blaise reasoned. "You've said it a million times; you aren't a protector. It terrifies you that you might let her down."

Draco raked a hand through his hair and stomped across the room.

"I can't focus in class because she's _always_ there, distracting me, reminding me. And I can't do a bloody thing about any of it because I _tried_, she won't _let_ me help her. So, what's the point?"

Blaise studied Draco for several minutes as he ranted and arched a dark eyebrow.

"You fancy her," Blaise said after a pause.

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"_What_?" Draco stuttered incredulously.

"Don't play daft, you sod," Blaise chuckled, leaning against the wall casually as he stroked his chin and stared at his friend.

"I don't fancy Granger," insisted Draco furiously, looking down at his hands.

"Denial, mate, denial," Blaise said and Draco glared. "Look, mate, I know you like her—no, don't argue with me. I've said if before and I will only continue saying it until you come to your senses and wake up. I see the way you look at her, especially within the last few days. Something in you has changed. These dreams, this ring, they might've _triggered_ that change, but they haven't changed_ you._ The only way you can change is if you allow change to happen. You changed because somewhere inside of you, you wanted to change. And somewhere inside of you, you know you don't want her to die, but you are terrified that you won't be enough, which is why you are constantly trying to give up on everything, why you are constantly bitter towards her."

When Draco didn't respond, he continued.

"You were always trying to be this big bloody prat, strutting about Hogwarts, giving off the impression that you were so much better than you actually were. You always aimed to please, always tried to keep the family name clean and wonderful, but you lost yourself when you tried to be your father. You're nothing like him, Draco," Blaise said quietly. "Now, I believe Granger, that ring, those dreams, they've all helped you realize who you are inside."

"You sound like a woman, Zabini," Draco muttered. "When did you get so bloody sentimental anyway?"

Blaise grinned saucily and ran a hand through his sleek black hair, neatly gelled to perfection.

"Well, one of us has to be on top of things," Blaise told him, winking. "You're so bloody egotistical and self-absorbed and thickheaded and tough skinned and—"

"All right, all right," Draco interrupted. "Enough with the bashing, yes?"

"So, admit it," Blaise pressed after a moment. "You fancy Granger."

"Oh, bloody _hell_, Blaise," Draco groaned. "Can't you just let it—?"

"No, I can't," Blaise said seriously. "You've got a thing for Granger and it bothers you. I want to know why."

"Because it's _Granger_!" Draco yelled in exasperation.

There was a crumbling sensation in his chest, even as he said it.

"That's bullshit, Draco," Blaise said, folding his arms. "None of that even matters anymore. There's something more to it than just that."

"She hates me, I hate her, it's always been that way," Draco snipped in frustration. "How I feel just doesn't make sense."

"You know, mate, I get that you're a Malfoy and you are really big on tradition and you hate change, but why don't you take a step back and look at the circumstances," Blaise said, rolling his eyes.

"What circumstances?"

"Nothing here makes sense anymore. You've got a ring that tells you what is going to happen in the future. It predicted Hermione Granger's death," Blaise continued. "It wants you to save her. In the process you've wound up falling for her. And you're already giving up? Speaking from a moral point of view, you're just going to let her die? Speaking from a heart's point of view, you're just going to let her slip away without telling her how you feel?"

"Oh, will you just stop—"

"Gods, Malfoy, pull yourself together and woo the bleeding girl."

Draco clamped his jaw shut tightly. He sucked in a deep breath and sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Don't be an idiot. Granger can't be wooed, Blaise."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Blaise smirked, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Malfoy, and take out that wand that's shoved up your arse and make a move. Save the girl's life. Live happily ever after."

"You're not upset that I fancy Granger?" Draco asked slowly.

"Honestly? No. I think she's a real doll," Blaise laughed, jumping to his feet. "I knew it would happen one day. She's your perfect challenge, Draco. She's always been either the best thing for you or the worst."

Draco rolled his eyes, but mentally felt the huge boulder that had been looming over his head disappear.

"Here's your ring," Blaise said, flicking the gold band toward Draco, who caught it. "You'll probably be wanting that."

As they walked down to dinner, Blaise and Draco were comfortably silent, both mulling over the previous conversation. As they sat down and began to load their plates with various foods, Draco peeked up at the Gryffindor table, instantly spotting Hermione Granger.

She was talking to Neville, tears streaming down her face as she shoved a piece of paper into his hands. After scanning over the paper, Neville sighed and wrapped the brunette in a tight embrace, shaking his head. He watched as Hermione shuddered, wondering what on earth had happened.

"Blaise," Draco whispered, shaking his friend.

"Mm?" Blaise grunted, mid bite.

"Did you find out anything about Granger today?" Draco asked. "Anything that might help us figure out who the hell is after her?"

"Oh, yeah, I totally forgot to tell you," Blaise said, smacking his forehead. "I heard from the line of gossip today that Granger's secret admirer has turned into a complete loon. He's been sending her threats and all that rubbish."

"_What?_" Draco hissed. "You didn't tell me this? Now she's definitely, openly in danger!"

"Calm down, mate," Blaise said, alarmed once again by Draco's anger.

"I will not _calm down_, you fool!" Draco growled, but sucked in a breath despite his anger. "Do you know who the secret admirer is?"

"No, but I'm almost positive that it is that Kartrick bloke that's been stalking her for a while," Blaise answered darkly.

He remembered how Blaise told him that Pieter had tried strangling her in the library, then remembered how he had tried cursing her once again in Defense. And of course, there was now the rumor that he had slept with her.

"How do we deal with him?" Draco asked, shaking his head.

"Slimy codger," Blaise said. "I say we hex his arse."

"But you really think _he's_ behind all this?" Draco asked.

"I'm not sure if he's her killer for certain, but he's certainly a threat," he replied. "And he has proven on many occasions how dangerous he is. That he has a 'plan' for her."

"I need to think," Draco said abruptly, excusing himself from the table and hurrying out of the Great Hall.

He hurriedly walked down the torch-lit corridors of the castle, determination in his step. He didn't like the fact that Granger had a stalker, or that it was the Slytherin want to be, Pieter Kartrick. Draco wondered how he had even managed to be sorted into Gryffindor in the first place.

Draco came to a standstill in front of the library and quirked an eyebrow. Why had he ended up here? He glanced down at the emerald ring on his finger, wondering if it had led him here or if he'd simply wandered to this spot out of recent habit. He shook his head, deciding in the end that he didn't care. It was a quiet place to think and that's exactly what he needed if he wanted to come up with a plan to help Hermione.

He opened the doors and snaked his way through the aisles, moving into the Restricted Section with ease until he found the infamous table from his dreams. He took his seat by an open window and breathed in deeply, the smell of the library and the fresh air against his face calming him. But his relaxing thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the library doors slammed against the stone walls and he heard heavy footfalls coming down the aisles.

"Alexandrite," whispered a voice. "Oh, where did Madame Pince say it was at? It has to be around here somewhere."

When Hermione Granger rounded the corner, looking down the aisle, she almost walked right past him. She stopped, however, when she spotted him. He shot out of his chair, banging his knee on the round wooden table in the process. Her cheeks were blotchy from her previous tears, her eyes bright with anticipation. For one moment, as she hesitated and worried her bottom lip, Draco was sure that she would turn right around and go back from where she came. But to both her surprise and his, she stayed, taking a step toward him.

"Granger?"

"I came here for a book. Madame Pince says you might have it, but told me to check just in case you'd returned it," Hermione replied softly. "It's a book on Alexandrite. It's a stone—"

"I know what it is," Draco cut her off. "My question to you is how the hell do _you_ know about it?"

She bit her lip, unsure. "I'm researching it for a project."_  
><em>

He swallowed.

"I have the book you're looking for," he told her. "You won't be able to find the information anywhere else."

She studied him carefully.

"May I borrow it when you are finished with it?"

He eyed her. "On one condition."

She froze, eyes narrowing. She waited for him to continue.

"You have to hear me out," Draco said.

"About what? How you're having dreams of me dying? How you think someone's trying to kill me?" she scoffed. "Just give me the book, Draco."

"Granger, this is regarding your safety," Draco protested. "You'll get the book, just please let me talk to you."

She held up her hand, cutting off the rest of his sentence. Her ocher eyes seared into his and she eyed him carefully.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" she whispered, running a hand through her golden locks. Draco gulped at the action, reminding himself to keep a clear head.

"Very."

"I must be going mental," she sighed and then nodded. "Fine. A while back you asked me if I was in danger. You said—you said that if I ever needed your help that I could come to you."

Her voice was determined and strong as she stared at him. "Did you mean it?"

"Of course," he replied, clearing his throat, which had suddenly become very dry.

She bit her lip again and her eyes roamed up to the ceiling, as if she was asking the heavens why she was doing this. He shifted, trying his hardest to keep his eyes away from her lips. He was brought back to earth when she blew out a frustrated breath, throwing her bangs across her face, and eyed him again.

"You said you were having dreams of someone trying to kill me. Is that true?" she asked, her voice like stone.

"Yes, it is," he assured her, voice serious. "I have a ring that is made with a special stone, you can look it all up in this book; it's called the Alexandrite stone."

Her honey eyes widened in disbelief as he motioned toward his ring. He pushed the book that had given him a few answers about his heirloom over toward her. She fingered it carefully.

"In short, it makes it so that I dream about the future and warns me when something is about to happen. Lately, all my dreams have been warning me about someone trying to kill you. And in the future it predicts, you die."

She regarded him for a moment, trying to decipher if he was telling the truth. Finding no fault, she began to deflate, her shoulders slumping.

"Who does it?" she demanded.

"I—well, I don't know," Draco admitted and she huffed. "I can never see the person's face. All I know is that you're in grave danger and someone is going to try and hurt you."

"And? Why does that matter to you? Why is it up to you to help me, out of all the people in the world? Why you?" she blurted, suddenly overcome by her emotions.

"It matters," Draco said stonily, "that's all you need to know."

Her eyes widened in obvious surprise and he knew why. He had just admitted that she mattered to him in so many words, and that had shocked her.

"I've been receiving these notes," she told him quietly, avoiding his eyes. "I'm sure you've probably heard by now."

"Somewhat," he replied, leaving the topic up for her to continue. When she didn't, he sighed. "Look, Granger, you have to help me out here."

"How can I trust that it isn't _you_ sending me these notes?" she inquired, eyeing him again.

Frustrated, he exhaled loudly in exasperation.

"Why would I want to send you little love notes, Granger?" he laughed hollowly. "Honestly, just because I'm having nightmares about you, it doesn't mean that I'm in love with you."

As soon as the words escaped his mouth he jammed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw.

_Stupid_, he thought.

She was staring at him with wide doe eyes, refusing to blink. The air around them was suddenly full of electricity and heat. Draco pulled at his collar and she averted her eyes. When she had recovered from the shock of his statement, she cleared her throat, all stoniness back.

"I never insinuated that you were in love with me, Draco," she said icily, her guard up. "Now, if you wouldn't mind getting back on topic?"

Draco could have strangled her. Here he was, trying to _help_ her, and she was being like this?

"Look," he spat, anger boiling in his veins, "I realize that you don't trust me and that you coming to ask me for help is like listening to nails down a chalkboard, but if we're going to get anywhere you are going to have to let go of that heinous Gryffindor _pride_ and stop being so stubborn. Can you manage to do that for five minutes?"

Surprised, she nodded. With a relieved sigh, he gestured to the chairs by the table.

"How about we sit down and you can tell me what's been going on?" he suggested and she nodded again, slipping into the chair across from him, even though the one next to him was perfectly empty. He felt a twinge inside his chest when he realized this but ignored it.

She cleared her throat for the third time and flattened her hands on the table.

"I don't know where to even start," she confessed in a small voice, staring at her hands.

"How about you start from the beginning, so you can fill me in on everything I need to know," he said and she nodded stiffly, silently agreeing.

"I started receiving these anonymous letters from a person I didn't know, around the beginning of term," she explained, still staring at her hands as she relived her experience. "At first I thought it was a joke, but they just kept coming. They sounded so poised and beautiful and I was flattered that anyone would say such things to me. He wrote to me from lines of Edgar Allan Poe, my favorite poet."

She wandered off, her voice trailing away quietly. She quickly glanced at him and blushed, realizing that she had been rambling. She looked beautiful. Draco's jaw locked, his stomach quivering. She couldn't possibly ever realize the effect she had on him.

"I love Poe," she explained bashfully and then her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry; it never occurred to me that you might not know who Edgar Allan Poe is—"

Draco held up a hand to silence her.

"I know who Poe is," he said flatly.

Her jaw dropped only a fraction, but it was enough for him to see that she was incredibly shocked by this information.

"But he's a Muggle writer," Hermione argued. "How could you have possibly heard of him?"

"Do you honestly believe that just because I am a pureblood, I don't know who ruddy Edgar Allan Poe is?" Draco laughed, amused and slightly offended, although he couldn't pinpoint why.

"I never took you for the kind to know poetry, much less _Muggle_ poetry," Hermione admitted, her tone like pinpricks.

"I picked up a few things in Muggle Studies last year," Draco said dismissively.

She looked disappointed as he said this, but only mildly. It was enough to confuse him to no end, however.

"Shall I continue?" she asked, staring out the window.

"Go ahead," he answered, eyes glued to her face. He couldn't help thinking back to his dream, where he had flung her on her back against this very table, then watched her burst into flames.

"Well, he knew things about me that I'd only shared with a few close people, with those I trust. So, I foolishly began to trust him, even though I didn't have a clue who it was," she continued, her tone dripping in self-loathing. She glanced at him wearily. "I know what you're probably thinking. Pitiful little Mudblood, too flattered by the idea of someone fancying her that it clouded her judgment."

"Don't call yourself that," he snapped and her head jerked toward him in shock, her lips parting in a perfect 'O'. "And I wasn't thinking that at all, actually, so you can continue."

She closed her mouth and pursed her lips, furrowing her eyes in confusion. Shaking her head, she continued.

"I looked forward to the letters for a time," she said, her eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling. "But then strange things started happening. I was asked to tutor Pieter Kartrick—"

Draco sneered at the name, disgusted.

"—and at first it was fine. I mean, I've always found him a bit socially awkward, but I just thought he was misunderstood, that people were cruel to him because they didn't understand him. I couldn't just form an opinion based on how others thought of him."

Draco rolled his eyes. Did she always have to be so bloody wonderful?

"And then what?" prompted Draco.

"And then he did this to me," Hermione said, pulling back her hair to reveal a large, dark bruise on each side of her neck.

Draco's insides lurched as he remembered Blaise telling him about walking in on Kartrick strangling her. His hands curled into fists at the thought and something roared inside his chest.

"Explain to me what happened," he said, voice rougher than he had intended.

With a sigh she recounted her tale.

"I was tutoring him in the library, just over there," she said, pointing toward the entrance of the library, past the Restricted Section. "And he wasn't paying attention so, stupidly, I reached over to grab the sketchbook he was fiddling with, angered that he was drawing in it instead of listening to me like he should have been and—"

Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, running a hand through her hair.

"It was stupid," she said harshly, "really, really stupid. I taunted him about it, demanding to know what he drew inside of it, and I looked inside. It was full of drawings, twisted little things. He had sketches of the Dark Mark and decaying bodies and—it was awful. But what freaked me out the most was that the rest of the pages were all of me. He'd been following me around for weeks, sketching everything I did."

Draco blanched. So, Blaise really had been right. All the sketches, everything, had been true.

"He was extremely angry that I'd taken his sketchbook and looked through it—"

"With obvious reason," Draco commented and she nodded.

"And he shoved me into a bookcase, then knocked me to the ground and strangled me, and in short, threatened to blow me up," she finished and Draco growled.

"He threatened you?" Draco repeated darkly.

"Yes, he withdrew his wand, jammed it into my stomach, and threatened to blow up my entrails," she told him and he flinched. "So, I shoved him away from me and he knocked me down, got on top of me, and began strangling me and was about to curse me when your friend interfered. Then he ran away."

"Why didn't you report this to a teacher like Blaise asked you to?" Draco ground out and she looked at him with mild surprise.

"So he told you about it, then."

Draco nodded tersely.

"I don't really know, I guess I didn't want any trouble," she said and Draco scoffed. "I heard that he had anger problems so I thought if I just stopped tutoring him and just left him alone, everything would blow over, but apparently, that never happened."

Draco snorted. Apparently.

"So, we've established that Kartrick is a stalker," Draco said. "Anything else happen?"

She bit her lip again, obviously hesitating.

"Granger, please," he pleaded. "I need to know anything that might have happened that will give me clues on how to help you. I can't convince you to trust me, but I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to help you."

She seemed shocked by his words and even more so by the sincerity in his words. With a sigh, she gave in.

"Then that rumor started going around school," Hermione said, blushing in shame, "saying that I slept with him. I should have figured Gina Hayford would say something about it. I was only trying to help Pansy out—"

"And that was very good of you. I know Pansy appreciated it. Plus, Gina Hayford can never be taken seriously. She runs in the same crowd as Romilda Vane, who is most certainly not _sane_, Granger," Draco smirked and the brunette smiled uncertainly. "Pease continue."

She scratched the bruise on her neck absentmindedly.

"Well, everyone began to believe that the rumor was true," she sighed. "And then I ran into Pieter and he started taunting me and he knew I liked poetry, and I was so terrified, I ran upstairs."

"And then what happened?" Draco asked, reminding himself to stay calm.

"Neville was with me when I got another note from my 'admirer'," she said, shaking her head. She looked as if she was on the verge of crying. Honestly, he was impressed she hadn't erupted in waterworks by now, after everything that had happened to her. "It was different than all the others; it was angry."

"Do you have the notes with you by chance?" Draco asked and she nodded timidly, digging through the bag at her feet.

"Which ones would you like to see?" she asked.

"All of them, if you have them," he said and she nodded.

She pushed an assortment of things across the table, explaining each of them to him.

"This one, I'm guessing, is the first threatening note you received?" he chanced, indicating to the note in his hand. She nodded.

"Time is waring thin. You will be _mine_. Or die," he recited, shaking his head and resisting the urge to set the paper aflame. "Who would be sick enough to do this?"

"You sound like Neville," she laughed hollowly.

"So, I take it there is more?" he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes," she responded, pushing another blue letter toward him. "That was the second letter. After you and I had our last spat, when you told me someone was going to kill me, I went up to my room and it was sitting on my bed. The window was open. So I'm guessing someone charmed it to find my bedroom."

"You may think you can hide your bruises, but I will always know where your true scars lie?" Draco read, furrowing his brow. "What does this mean to you?"

Hermione's face became sullen and her hand trembled to her stomach. Shaking herself out of whatever petrified world she had been in, she pushed across another item.

"That is the necklace I was using to hide my bruise," she informed him, gesturing to the necklace she'd pushed across the table. "It went missing from my dorm and showed up that afternoon with that letter."

"So, obviously whoever sent you the letter and took your necklace knew that you had a bruised neck," he said. "So, what does this 'scars' line, mean?"

She visibly paled and shook her head quickly, tearing welling up in her fear stricken eyes.

"I—I don't know," she told him, averting her eyes.

"You aren't telling me something," he noticed, narrowing his eyes at her.

"There was another note," she whispered fiercely. "It was shoved in my Potions book, along with this—"

Draco, who had quickly read through the last note, frowning at the mention of death and if she was afraid of it or not, looked up. Her hand extended to him across the table and when she uncurled her hand, the item inside it dropped to the table. Draco recoiled and stared in horror at the item on the desk.

"Is that—?" he croaked, horrified.

"A lock of my hair," she finished for him, nodding.

"That's why you were crying at dinner," he said, finally understanding.

Puzzled by this statement, she glanced up at him from under her long, curly lashes, giving him a questioning look.

"You still aren't telling me something," Draco noticed, his eyes boring into hers. She quickly looked away, affirming his guess. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

There was a long pause until finally she opened her mouth and without looking at him, she said, "No."

He could see something in her eyes, a fear that ran deeper than most. He could tell she was hiding something, but he decided not to press it any more than it had already been pressed. He was shockingly impressed by the way she had opened up to him. It didn't mean she trusted him, but in a way, she did. And that was all that mattered. Now, he had information to work with. Now, he had her cooperation. Now, he might have the chance to save her life.

She stood up just then, picking up her book bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She quickly deposited all the notes and items into her bag and glanced up at Draco, exhaling deeply as if preparing herself for something. To his surprise, she suddenly extended her hand toward him, as if waiting for him to shake it. When he took her hand into his, a strange tremor jolted through his body, so powerful he was sure that she had felt it too. He glanced down at the ring, noticing that it was once again crimson. Hermione, as if alarmed by the sudden electricity, cleared her throat, ripped her hand from his, and straightened.

"Right," she whispered hoarsely. "I'll see you around, Draco."

And with that, she disappeared behind the corner.


	19. Stones

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

A/N: So, we are coming upon the plot quite fast now. How are we all liking it so far? Thank you to my ever faithful reviewer, **Schnock**. I know I can always count on your comments to boost my spirits and keep me going!** fan-de-carlisle-cullen**, yes, Blaise and Draco will be becoming a type of "FBI" as you will, haha. And thank you to the rest of you, who have continually stuck with me and loved me through it all. Thank you for reviewing and keeping tabs with my stories. It means so very much to me. I hope to hear more from you! All my love!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter Eighteen<span>_

_Stones_

* * *

><p><em>Inside out, upside-down twisting beside myself,<br>Stop that now; you're as close as it gets without touching me,  
>Oh no, don't make it harder than it already is,<br>Mmm, I feel a weakness coming on._

_It's not meant to be like this, not what I planned at all,  
>I don't want to feel like this, Yeah,<br>No it's not meant to be like this, not what I planned at all,  
>I don't want to feel like this, so that makes it all your fault.<em>

__"The Walk"_—Imogen Heap_  
><em>_

* * *

><p>"Beautiful day, don't you think?" Ginny commented, plopping down onto the grass beside Hermione.<p>

Hermione nodded happily, a smile warming her face. She was incredibly happy by the change of weather. Instead of the normal beginning of winter rains and snows, it was a beautiful, breezy, warm day. The sky was a blanket of deep blue sprinkled with powdery puffs of cotton clouds, which moved lazily across the sky. A chilly breeze trickled through the air, tickling her nose and toying with her hair.

"Since when do you have a free period right now?" Hermione inquired, closing her eyes contently against the peeking sun.

"I don't," responded Ginny simply, shrugging. "Some louse set off a dungbomb on the third floor and now the whole third floor practically _reeks_ of dung. It's disgusting. So, all classes have been canceled for the hour until they can manage to clean up the stench and find the culprit."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the thought. Fred and George had done that many times when they had been at school, and the foul smell was something no one could forget. She sighed, missing the twins, missing all the Weasleys.

"Who would be stupid enough to set off a dungbomb?" Hermione muttered, mildly annoyed by all the pranks happening lately.

"Probably some second year with no life," Ginny said, splaying out on the grass.

After several minutes of silence, Ginny sat up, grumbling. Hermione opened her eyes and turned her head, watching in curiosity as Ginny scratched her neck with ferocity. She growled again and shot Hermione a contemptuous look.

"What?" Hermione wondered with a laugh, propping herself up on her elbow.

"How on earth can you be comfortable on this stuff?" Ginny breathed lowly, gesturing to the thin blades of jade green grass. She scratched at her neck again. "It's itchy and it stabs like none other."

Hermione shrugged, pulling at a blade of grass absentmindedly.

"I find it quite comfortable, actually," she told her and Ginny rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Maybe it's poking you because you have your hair pulled up."

"That has nothing to do with it," Ginny said, smirking as her hand immediately went to her ponytail.

"So, how are the boys?" asked Hermione, sitting up.

"The boys?"

"You know, Harry and Ron?" Hermione continued. "I haven't heard from them much lately."

Ginny arched an eyebrow imperiously and whacked her on the arm.

"Of _course_ you haven't, you troll," Ginny laughed, throwing grass at Hermione's face. "You've been avoiding them like the plague."

"I have not," argued Hermione, folding her arms. "I've mailed them both and I've only gotten one letter from Harry this whole year."

"They've been very busy."

Hermione shook her head.

"But Harry still finds time to mail you, doesn't he?"

"Of course he does, but that's only because he loves me," Ginny said, triumphant. "Anyway, I hardly get letters from him nowadays, and the ones I do manage to snag are filled with work stories and his new promotion. And he, of course, wants all the Quidditch updates in the world."

Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, toying with more grass.

"And Ron?" asked Hermione shyly. "Have you heard from him?"

Ginny sighed. "Not a word."

Just then, Hermione spotted Neville exiting the castle with Luna. Not a moment later, the bell rang, and a flood of students emerged from within the stone walls, taking advantage of the beautiful day.

"What are you doing, Luna?" she wondered as she came toward them.

"Just trust me, come here," she said and Hermione and Ginny followed them.

"What is going on?" Hermione asked and Luna shushed her.

"Neville's going to ask Hannah to the ball," Luna replied, pointing to Neville in the distance.

"How's he asking her?" Ginny inquired and Luna shrugged.

"I dunno," she muttered, "he just said he'd improvise."

Hermione groaned. It was never a good idea for Neville to improvise. Everything always ended badly. He had been lucky to get a date to the Yule Ball in fourth year at all, the way he had asked.

"Hello, Neville. How are you?" Hannah greeted.

Neville's smile lost some of its superiority as he faltered, only then realizing he didn't have a clue how to ask her out. Hermione shook her head. Boys could be so daft sometimes. With a flourish, Hermione brandished her wand and pointed it at Neville. Ginny's jaw hit the ground and she leapt toward her.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed.

Hermione threw out an arm to stop the redhead and shoved her backward again, smirking. Luna looked on with a quizzical stare.

"Just trust me," she assured them.

Hermione waved her wand. Neville let out an unnaturally loud and strangled squawk as a bouquet of pink carnations appeared in hands, which he had clasped behind his back. In amazement, Neville brought his arms in front of him, the bouquet of rich carnations flashing in the sunlight as he did so. Ginny staggered backward, a hand over her tiny rose colored lips. Luna gave a small yet satisfied giggle, her big blue eyes lighting up like a thousand constellations.

Neville's face was a mask of surprise, but luckily, he recovered quickly and cleared his throat, smiling. But Hermione still wasn't satisfied. With another flick, Hermione muttered another spell and Neville buckled spontaneously to his knees. His eyes were alight grew bright with surprise and quickly darted toward Hermione, Ginny, and Luna; when he saw Hermione with her wand pointed at him, his eyes narrowed. Hermione squeaked and pulled Ginny and Luna lower down the hill until she knew it was safe to watch.

"Will you go to the ball with me, Hannah?" Neville asked, still on his knees, the carnations held out towards Hannah.

There was a long, pregnant pause and in those few moments the world seemed to freeze, waiting with bated breath for Hannah's response. Her honey glow cheeks burned almost as brightly pink as the carnations now in front of her face. A delightful laugh sprung forward from her lips and she nodded furiously.

"Of course!" she bubbled suddenly, her voice full of emotion as she leaped into his arms, knocking him and the carnations over in the process. "I thought you would never ask!"

They both fell to the ground, laughing.

"How did you know I loved carnations?" Hannah wondered, picking up the fallen bouquet.

Of course, Hermione had found out about Hannah's favorite flower when she helped Ginny and Hermione find a book about transfiguring things into flowers. Neville's eyes quickly darted toward Hermione and she smiled at him, enjoying their secrecy.

"I just knew.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was a flurry of couples forming and girls being asked to the winter masquerade. The halls of Hogwarts had never seemed so cheerful, and whether it was the beautiful skies outside and the tranquil weather or a love bug had crawled into the pumpkin juice that morning, Hermione wasn't complaining. It was a nice change, seeing everyone so happy and carefree after such a traumatic experience the previous year.<p>

Hermione couldn't help feeling a bit melancholy, however, with the fact that no one had asked her to the masquerade yet. She hadn't even been asked to Hogsmeade, apart from Pansy Parkinson. And she certainly didn't qualify as a proper date.

By dinner, Neville was going to the ball with Hannah, Gina Hayford was going with Mitchell Gorde—a very large piece of gossip, considering Mitchell had dated Romilda, Gina's best friend___—___Pieter Kartrick had asked Romilda Vane, and Fay Dunbar was going with Michael Corner.

"Are you even _going_ to the ball, Ginny?" asked Fay at dinner, filling up her goblet with pumpkin juice.

Ginny gave a thoughtful scrunch of her nose and then shrugged.

"Harry wouldn't mind me going with someone else since he knows I only have eyes for him, but I think I'll just go stag," Ginny responded lightly.

"And you, Hermione? Has anyone asked you yet?" Fay prodded.

Hermione frowned.

"No."

"Then he wouldn't be so much of a secret admirer, would he?" Neville butted in, slipping into his seat beside Ginny. He gave Hermione a pointed look and her frown deepened. "Well, I'm sure someone will," Fay chirped. "Who knows, maybe that secret admirer of yours will."

"Or, perhaps ferret face will be the one to ask you," Ginny snorted and everyone laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, involuntarily shifting in her seat to look at the Slytherin table and the blond boy sitting mere inches away from her. They were talking in hushed tones and Hermione was barely able to distinguish what they were saying. They, too, were discussing the masquerade.

"I'm worried about Panse," Blaise was saying.

Hermione glanced around, not seeing Pansy anywhere. Astoria and Theo, however, were comfortably seated across the table from Blaise and Draco, off in their own little world.

"She had her heart set on going to the ball with Theo, and now that they are broken up, I'm afraid that she's going to shut down."

Draco sighed heavily and peered at the couple across from him.

"You know, I'd really like to hit them both in the face right now," Draco muttered. "How is it that they can be so happy together knowing that Pansy is so miserable, and all because of them? They're going to the dance together, can you even believe it?"

"Isn't that a little fast?" Blaise asked, casting a dark glare at Theo. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Astoria. But Theo? He's a downright prick."

Draco shrugged. "To each their own. He is obviously happy with Astoria and she's obviously very happy with him. I may not like what their happiness is doing to Pansy, but she'll come to terms with it eventually. She loves Stori like a sister."

"But I can't just sit by and watch Pansy sulk around on a night she's been looking forward to since you told her there'd be a ball," Blaise continued. "She's had her dress and mask picked out since the start of term practically."

"So, you ask her to the ball, then," Draco suggested. "That way she can go with someone she is comfortable with and enjoy her night."

"I would, I really would," Blaise stated and bowed his head, "but she was already going with Theo. So, I asked Jess."

"Jess?" Draco repeated.

"You know, Pansy's friend? She transferred to Durmstrang and now she's back at Hogwarts?"

"I never met her," Draco replied with a shrug.

"She's very attractive," Blaise said, smirking. "You can meet her at the dance, if you ever manage to swipe a date, you great big slug."

Draco rolled his eyes in response.

"I don't think I'm going," Draco announced and Hermione quirked an eyebrow in response.

"Why the hell not?" asked Blaise. "You have to go, Draco. It's policy. You are the Head Boy. It's your duty to the school to be there, even if you don't want to be. Even if you go alone."

He sighed. "Damn it."

"You could always ask Granger. I hear she's still available for swiping."

Hermione blanched. Absolutely _not_.

"Are you completely mad?" Draco snapped. "I'm not asking _Granger_."

"Why not? You like her, do you not?"

There was an audible _'oof'_ from Blaise as Draco punched him hard in the stomach.

"Shut up, you git."

Hermione turned away from them, leaving the bickering boys behind her and returning to her dinner. Minutes later, she caught sight of Draco exiting the Great Hall. She rose from her seat.

"I'll see you later," she said briefly to her friends, quickly leaving them behind and trailing after the tall blond.

She followed him to the lake, watching as he perched himself up on the large boulder, his shoe dipping teasingly into the water. He chucked a rather large rock out into the lake, causing the black water to cascade in many directions, shooting up toward the sky in momentary freedom before falling back into place.

"Draco," she greeted, making her presence known.

He nearly jumped sky high at her voice, whipping around so fast he nearly capsized off the enormous boulder.

"Granger, what in the _hell_ do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me like that?" he snarled, glaring at her accusingly.

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, stepping toward him. "I was only hoping that we could talk."

He blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again.

"Talk?"

She nodded.

"You want to talk? To me? Right now?" he stuttered.

"Well, why not?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders. "You said I could always come to you."

He sighed. "Yes, I suppose I did say that. What's wrong?"

"Does there have to be something wrong in order for me to talk to you?"

"Well, normally," Draco said slowly, crinkling his brow. "Either there's something wrong in our Head category, there's something wrong with something I said to offend you or someone else, or there's something wrong with someone who is trying to kill you. Take your pick."

Aggravated, she nearly walked away right then and there.

"Fine, then. Sorry to bother you," she said, turning away from him.

"Wait, Granger," he called after her. "If there's not something wrong, then what do you want?"

Again, she nearly walked away in her agitation, but something else held her in place.

"Since when does it matter what I want when I talk to you?" she scoffed. "Can't I just talk to you?"

"Granger," he laughed, "you never just talk with me. There's always some kind of hidden agenda with you."

"I'm actually very offended by that comment," she huffed.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry for wounding your fragile feelings," he mocked. "Certainly, after so many years, my very presence must break you to pieces."

Despite her initial aggravation with him, a smirk danced upon her lips and she shoved him lightly.

"Shove off, ferret," she laughed and he elbowed her in response.

They were silent for several seconds before he began throwing rocks into the lake again, less forceful this time.

"You know, if you are trying to skip the rocks, you're doing an awful job," Hermione stated and Draco turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

"I wasn't trying to skip rocks, Granger," he said, smirking. "But since you obviously believe I'll do it wrong, why don't you teach me the proper way, Miss Know-It-All."

They shared a smirk before Hermione hopped up.

"Come on, get up," she instructed and Draco moaned in protest. "Get up, lazy."

She pulled him to his feet.

"It's all in the wrist, you see," she said, taking his hand and showing him. "There, you try."

When he did, it sunk into the water and he scoffed.

"Right," he countered. "And I thought you were supposed to be the brilliant one. It's not working, oh wise one."

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again," she reminded him, placing another rock in his hand. "Remember, shift your wrist."

He barely got it to hop the second time.

"You're still doing it wrong," Hermione objected, shaking her head.

"Fine, then you do it," Draco told her, shoving a rock in her hand. "Show me how it's done. Or are you just full of rubbish?"

She sniffed, straightened her shoulders, and flicked her wrist. The stone went hopping down the shore, finally landing with a _plink_ several feet down into the lake. Satisfied, she turned toward Draco in triumph.

"I'm full of rubbish, am I?"

He frowned, grabbing a stone and attempting again. Failing, once again, he finally turned to her and pulled her roughly over to him.

"Show me again," he commanded.

It took five more tries, but then he managed to skip the stone a couple paces. He howled in triumph, jumping around like a little boy, swinging her with him. When he sat her back down on her feet, they were both winded and laughing up a storm.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" he wondered.

She sighed, staring off into the sunset, the smile slowly slipping off her face.

"Ron taught me," she said and watched his smile fall as well. "We had a bit of free time when we were searching for Horcruxes last year. It's how we passed most of the time. It took me nearly a month to get it right."

"I see."

Silence enveloped them and as the sun started to droop, the pleasant weather fell as well, growing chillier by the second. They enjoyed the quiet evening together, not really saying much of anything at all, just tossing pebbles into the water and skipping stones.

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Both Draco and Hermione paused mid-throw and turned around. There stood Pansy Parkinson, bundled up and looking positively depressing. Her usually luscious dark hair hung limply in a ponytail at the nape of her neck and she wore no make up. There were dark circles around her eyes. She eyed Hermione suspiciously and Hermione couldn't help but think back to what Pansy had said to her in Defense, about how she didn't want anything going on between her and Draco.

"Granger," Pansy greeted.

She nodded in response.

"Are you okay, Panse?" Draco asked, immediately coming to her side. "You don't look well."

"Gee, Draco, thank you for the compliment," Pansy said sarcastically. "I just needed to talk to you and couldn't find you anywhere, so I decided to check here."

Hermione, feeling completely and unreasonably abandoned and out of place, moved over to the boulder. She sat down, turning the smooth black rock she'd been about to cast out into the lake over in her hands. She couldn't help but listen to their conversation.

"Did you know?" Pansy demanded. "Did you know they were going to the dance together?"

There was a large sigh from Draco and Hermione watched as he nodded sullenly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It probably would've been easier for you to hear from me or Blaise. We just didn't want to upset you."

"Didn't want to_ upset_ me?" she snarled. "Draco, for Merlin's sake, my boyfriend left me for my best friend. Everything involving them upsets me."

Draco wrapped her in his arms and she began to cry.

"God, I'm a mess."

"Yeah, well, that's just fine," Draco assured her, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face. "You're still beautiful."

Something strange erupted inside of Hermione. It felt like her insides were on fire, like a volcano had exploded inside her chest cavity, pumping her veins full of molten hot lava.

"And hey, don't worry about the dance," Draco said.

"How can I not? The dress I got is non-refundable, Draco. And now I don't even get to go," she wept.

"That's a lie," said Draco softly. "You're not going to need to worry about getting a refund on your dress, because you'll be wearing it."

"Funny joke," Pansy snorted. "What, are you proposing I sit about in my dorm in my dress, dancing by myself like a loon, daydreaming that I'm there?"

"No. I'm actually proposing that you go with me," Draco said.

Sharp nails suddenly ripped down Hermione's stomach.

"Oh, Draco," Pansy gasped, swiping the tears from her cheeks. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I mean it," he told her. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't. I need a date anyway, and you deserve to have your night. Will you go to the masquerade with me?"

Pansy nearly knocked him over with her embrace.

"Yes, yes I will," she exclaimed. "Thank you, Draco. Thank you so much. You don't know how much this will mean to me."

"I do," he said. "That's why I asked, pet."

They shared another hug before Pansy turned and left, claiming she had "preparations" to make and a life to reshape. Hermione cleared her throat, suddenly feeling like she'd swallowed a plethora of sandpaper. When Draco came back to her side, she went rigid.

"What's your problem?"

Hermione, surprised, turned to Draco.

"What do you mean?" she asked dryly.

"You're all off," he noted. "Ever since Pansy showed up, you've been oddly quiet and distant."

"I was just giving the two of you some space to talk privately," she said, swallowing roughly.

"But you heard our conversation," Draco said. "I know you did."

"I thought you and her were broken up."

There was a beat and Draco furrowed his brow.

"We are."

"And yet you ask to go to the ball with her."

"Well why not?" Draco demanded, laughing. "It's not like you were planning on asking me, were you?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. She nearly shoved him off the boulder.

"No, of course not!" she snapped.

"Touchy," Draco teased, smirking. "Why is it bothering you so much that I'm going to the ball with her? Is it because I have a date and now you don't? Poor Granger."

"Hardly," Hermione argued.

"Oh, good Merlin," he gasped dramatically. "You're jealous!"

"No I am not!" she howled. "I can't even believe you would say something like that!"

"Touchy again," Draco noted. "You're in love with me, aren't you, Granger?"

"You insolent fool!" she exclaimed, throwing a pile of soggy leaves in his face. "Why, I've never heard something so ridiculous in my whole life."

He sputtered, coughing out a leaf from his mouth.

"Not a smart idea, Granger," said Draco and lunged at her.

She shrieked and the two of them plummeted to the ground, plopping into a pile of leaves and pebbles. Rocks dug roughly into her skin and the back of her blouse rode up, exposing her back to the cold and damp ground. Leaves stuck in her hair as they wrestled.

He was far stronger than she and every time she would gain the advantage, Draco would pin her back down, smirking triumphantly.

Aggravated, she clenched a handful of leaves and shoved them up his shirt. This caught him by surprise and he let go of her, allowing her to wriggle out form underneath him. She watched in amusement as he lifted his shirt to remove the soggy leaves and then plucked out several leaves that had fallen into the waistband of his pants.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Trying to get in my pants, Granger?"

She threw another handful of leaves at him in response, but he was too quick, and within seconds she was lying flat on her back again. A strange bubbling sensation erupted inside her stomach, warm and pulsing. Breaths hitched inside her chest. They moved closer to the other, as if a magnetic force was combining them together.

Though she was completely aware of what was happening and her mind screamed for her to stop, she couldn't resist the urge her body was demanding her to fulfill.

Their lips were barely a whisper away when Hermione felt something blaze into the skin of her side, as if someone was jabbing a white hot iron into her body. She gazed down at Draco's hand on her hip, the way her shirt was ridden up, and the crimson color of his ring.

"Your ring," she whispered, grabbing his hand.

Instead of normally jerking away from her like he had done on so many occasions, Draco remained still, gazing down in wonderment with Hermione.

"It changed color, again," Hermione pointed out and then looked back up at Draco. "Why?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't know the answer to that one, yet. Blaise thinks that it reacts to you or certain situations, but I honestly have no idea."

They were silent, staring off into the twilight. A smoky fog began to curl around the timid waves of the lake and Hermione, for the first time that night, realized how chilly it was. As if noticing this at the same time, Draco took off his cloak and slipped it around her shoulders.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, thinking how strange it was to be saying this to Draco Malfoy.

She couldn't deny how things had shifted between her and Draco, and how fast it all was. Not to mention confusing.

"Did you know that the lake is rumored to be the only area in Hogwarts where you can actually apparate?" Hermione said after a long silence.

Draco looked up at her, surprised as he came out of his thoughts.

"You can't do that," he protested.

"I read it in _Hogwarts, A History_," she returned. "It is only a rumor, however. I've never had the time to test if it is possible."

"How would you know?" Draco wondered and then shuddered. "I'd rather not get splinched in the process."

"There's a little hole in the vortex surrounding the school," she replied. "You'd be able to hear the hum."

"Like a forcefield?"

"Exactly, like a hole in an invisible electric fence," she stated. "You can hear a hum and might even be able to see a difference in the illusion."

Draco mulled this over in his head.

"I still don't want to try to apparate from the grounds," Draco laughed darkly. "It's very painful if you do."

"You really get splinched?" asked Hermione. "I thought you just couldn't go anywhere."

"Most of the time, but it depends on the area of the school," Draco said. "I knew a bloke who tried to apparate and was nearly hospitialized for a week because of it."

"I don't know if I believe that," Hermione chuckled and they both returned to silence.

"Should we talk about what just happened?" Draco asked quietly. "I mean..."

He trailed off and Hermione sighed, checking her watch. "It's late, Draco."

Swallowing hard, he gave a curt nod. "Of course. I'll walk you back."

Hermione's heart stuttered, but she nodded in consent. They walked back to the Head dorm, for the first time not enjoying the silence between them. The tension between them was so bad that by the time Hermione entered the Head common room, she nearly bolted into her room, whipping the door quickly behind her.

She leaned against the back of her door, breathing short, shallow gasps of air.

_What _did_ happened out there?_ she thought, finally coming to the realization that she and Draco almost kissed outside.

She shook her head roughly, her hair whipping back and forth, not understanding what she was feeling. Not understanding anything anymore.

"I must be going crazy," she whispered, desperately wishing she had Harry with her to help her through her muddied thoughts, since he understood her more than anyone.

She would write to him, she decided, and then she would send the letter out in the morning post. She figured she might as well write Ron again, too.

Whether or not they would answer were entirely up to them.


	20. Growing

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N: **So, as some of you have pointed out, Draco docks points from Slytherin when talking to Pieter Kartrick. I did this _**intentionally**_, since Draco was intoxicated and thought Pieter always belonged in Slytherin. My apologies if that was confusing; hopefully I cleared that all up. Pieter is in Gryffindor.

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Nineteen<em>

_Growing_

* * *

><p><em>And of course I forgive; I've seen how you live<br>Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes, You pick up the pieces  
>And the ghosts in the attic, They never quite leave<br>And of course I forgive; You've seen how I live  
>I've got darkness and fears to appease<br>My voices and analogies  
>Ambitions like ribbons<br>Worn bright on my sleeve  
>Strange how we know each other<br>Strange how I fit into you_

_"Eric's Song"_—Vienna Teng_  
><em>

* * *

><p>Halfway through November, Draco awoke from his slumber in a cold sweat. Through bleary eyes, Draco gazed around his room, startled by his surroundings. His dream had felt so real, so unbelievably real.<p>

She was dead. He'd seen her there, lying in that coffin with her hands fanned out over her breasts, the corners of her seashell pink lips turned down. Her cold, ocher brown eyes stared up at him, unblinking, lifeless.

Full of disappointment.

He hadn't gotten to her in time.

He couldn't save her.

And he died along with her.

Springing out of bed, Draco threw the covers off of his torso. His heart hammered in his chest and his legs shook. The world around him shifted, spinning ridiculously fast. Sucking in a deep breath, Draco pulled open his bedroom door and stumbled into the hallway that connected his room to Hermione's.

Before he could control himself, his fist pounded the wooden frame. Seconds later, she opened the door and emerged from the drafty depths of her bedroom. Obviously, she slept with her window open.

Tired and confused, her voice cracked when she spoke.

"Draco?"

He stared at her in amazement, half tempted to reach out and stroke her glistening cheek, push her damp hair out of her eyes. Make sure she was real.

"What is it?" she wondered. "It's four in the morning."

He noticed how her hands trembled, how her white cotton tank top clung to her warm and sweaty body. A dribble of moisture slipped into the crevice between her breasts. She reacted to the chill of the change in temperature, her slippery palms chafing the gooseflesh on her arms.

He swallowed painfully, averting his eyes.

"I__—__um__—__I was just__—__checking on you to see if you were okay."

Her eyes raked across his bare chest, noticing the moisture dripping over his sensitive skin, just like hers.

"I'm fine, Draco," she croaked.

She looked weak and shaky, feverish.

"Are you sure? You don't look well," he noted.

"Fine," she snapped and then gasped, roughly pushing him aside and stumbling down the stairs, a hand clamped over her mouth.

Hesitant and alarmed, Draco followed her. He watched as she tore into the bathroom and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sound that followed next. He trailed into the bathroom, gazing at her kneeling body, at the way her red checkered pajama bottoms clung to her hips. She heaved again into the toilet bowl and Draco cringed.

"You okay?" he ventured.

She answered with another heave. He came to her side, kneeling next to her.

"Go away," she panted, desperately flinging a hand out at him, warding him off.

Her fingers were cold and clammy against his chest and he shivered.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly and before she could protest, she dove back into the toilet bowl and released more of the contents in her stomach.

He rubbed her back as she heaved. He sat there next to her on the cold tile until she was heaving nothing at all, until the muscles in her stomach spasmed despite everything in her system being gone. He pulled her hair back from her face, running his fingers through it.

"Oh man," he sighed, shaking his head. "You're dry heaving now, Granger."

She shuddered.

"You're throwing up stomach acid," he noted, frowning.

"It hurts," she whimpered, clutching her stomach.

"I know it does," he said, rubbing her back softly. "How long have you been sick?"

"Since yesterday," Hermione responded weakly.

"How long have you been throwing up?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Too long."

She obviously didn't handle vomiting very well. Draco shook his head, noting the paleness of her skin.

"Have you been able to keep any liquids down?"

She shook her head, her eyelids drooping.

"I'm exhausted," she croaked. "I haven't slept at all."

He checked her forehead.

"You're burning up, Granger," he informed her worriedly. "You have a really high fever."

"It's breaking," she responded lightly, gesturing to the sweat on her skin.

"I don't care," he snapped. "I'm taking you to Madame Promfrey."

"I don't need to go to the hospital wing, Draco," she scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Granger, you've been sick since yesterday and haven't told anyone," he laughed darkly. "You can't even hold down water."

She cringed and heaved again. Many minutes later, after another attack of dry heaving, Draco insisted she go back to bed. She nodded weakly and he flushed the toilet, helping her to her feet.

"Whoa," she whispered, staggering in his arms. "Head rush."

She blinked rapidly, clutching her head. It took a few seconds for her to stand firmly on her feet.

"I'm fine," she griped, shaking him off as they exited the bathroom.

_Stubborn Gryffindor pride_, Draco thought bitterly.

She was halfway up the stairs to her bedroom when she clutched her head again, reaching for the hand rail.

"Draco," she called weakly, "I__—__can't see__—__anything."

And then she went down.

He watched her give out on the staircase. Watched in horror as her elbow cracked against the stone and then her head.

"Granger?" Draco exclaimed, coming hurriedly to her side.

Her head lolled back as he scooped her into his arms.

"Granger," he demanded, but she was unresponsive.

Her eyes were rolled back into the back of her head and her breathing was shallow. A line of crimson flowered down from a large gash in her forehead.

"Damn it, Granger, wake up!" he shouted, smacking her face until a nasty red blotch appeared on the pasty sallowness of her skin.

Still, she did not respond. He knew he probably shouldn't move her—didn't they say something about moving people that might have an injury?—but it was four in the morning and the Head Girl had just fainted and hit her head on the stairs. __  
><em>_

She needed medical attention.

"Damn you, you stubborn, stupid girl," he snarled, hurriedly scooping her up and practically running to the hospital wing.

The doors to the hospital wing were shut, but Draco knew Madame Promfrey was sleeping in her quarters, just next to her office. He pounded on the door, yelling and shouting as loud as he could. Still, the girl in his arms did not stir and Draco's panic grew.

"_Promfrey!_" Draco screamed.

The hospital wing's doors flew open and the elderly woman gazed at Draco in alarm and annoyance.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Please," he gasped, pushing past her and placing Hermione on a bed.

"What on earth happened?" Madame Promfrey gasped.

"She's been really ill since yesterday," he panted, raking his hands through his hair in frustration. "She's been vomiting excessively and she has a fever. She got really dizzy and when she was going back to her room, she fainted and hit her head on the staircase."

Madame Promfrey inhaled sharply, scuttling to Hermione's side.

"Go back to bed, Mr. Malfoy," she instructed. "I'll take care of her."

Draco crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm not going anywhere."

The nurse gave him a weary look and shook her head.

"She's not your responsibility, Mr. Malfoy. You need to go back to bed."

Draco took a step forward. "Look, I'm not leaving her side. Get her better and fix her. And don't tell me she's not my bloody responsibility.

Madame Promfrey's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, her tired eyes widening in surprise at his tone.

"She _is_ my responsibility."

She stared at him for far longer than necessary before nodding, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Very well," she allowed softly, gesturing to a seat next to Hermione's bed.

Exhausted, Draco spent the rest of the morning dozing at Hermione's side while she rested. When the first bell of the morning sounded, signaling the start of Potions, Draco sighed and rose from his seat. He knew that if Hermione woke to find him with her instead of in class, he would get an earful. With that thought in mind, he pushed himself back to the Head dorm to shower and change.

He made sure to drop in at the end of Potions and let Professor Slughorn know why Hermione was not in class and to get the assignment for both of them. Then, he went to Defense, where he quickly explained Hermione's whereabouts to Professor Thorne.

"Wait," Ginny Weasley said, grabbing Draco's arm as he went to stand beside Pansy. "Hermione's in the hospital?"

Draco nodded, tiredly explaining to Ginny what had happened earlier that morning.

"She's recovering," he assured the worried redhead. "She's very ill and incredibly dehydrated and might have a bit of a concussion, but other than that she'll be okay."

When lunch rolled around, Pansy said she had some business to attend to and left. Draco decided he would bring some lunch to Hermione, check in on her. When he arrived, he was surprised to see Pansy there.

_Odd_, he thought dully. _Since when do they talk outside of study sessions?_

"I heard that you and Draco are going to the ball together," Hermione was saying.

He blinked, listening closer, hiding behind a curtain by the entrance.

"Only because he feel sorry for me because my boyfriend left me for my best friend," Pansy scoffed.

"I'm sure that isn't the reason he asked you," Hermione argued. "He must enjoy your company; you two seem very close."

"He's like a brother to me now," Pansy said off-handely. "Anyway, I wanted to stop by and tell you that I nicked Draco's copy of Alexandrite information."

Draco furrowed his brow, dared a glance past the curtain toward the two girls. Hermione's eyes were wide.

"Why would he have a book about Alexandrite?" Hermione asked and Draco smirked.

So, she knew how to act. What a clever, witty girl. Still, it worried him that Pansy was suddenly so interested in Alexandrite.

"I don't have a clue. I just hope he's not doing the same project as us," Pansy replied. "Not that he could beat us at this rate anyway, especially since I've stolen his book. I swear, I looked all over the library for a book on that stupid stone."

A project, huh? A bit ironic, considering the circumstances, that Hermione would be doing a project on the very stone that he wore on a band around his finger. The ring the was hopefully trying to help him save her life.

"So, now that we've actually got some information to fall back on, we should be able to construct a pretty decent project now, don't you think?" Pansy said.

"Definitely. We'll find a way to blow Binns' socks off," Hermione agreed and they shared a light laugh.

They were silent for a few more seconds before Hermione spoke again.

"You know, Pansy, you should forgive Astoria."

"Excuse me?" Pansy snapped.

"Don't get defensive, just hear me out," Hermione continued.

"Funny joke."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. Just then, Draco heard a shuffling of footsteps behind him, noticed Ginny Weasley enter the Hospital Wing. She, however, hardly noticed him, too captivated by the scene unfolding before her.

"Don't let some stupid boy come in between you and your best friend," Hermione advised.

Pansy snorted unattractively.

"Do you mean to tell me that if Ginny Weasley was to suddenly start having feelings for Draco, you wouldn't be upset with her?"

Both Ginny and Draco jerked at the mention of their names in a collective sentence. Both sneered at the possibility of attraction between them.

"I don't have feelings for Draco," Hermione scoffed and then she got quiet, gazing at the floor. "He and I are just..."

"Just friends?" Pansy offered.

"Yes."

Draco felt a door in his heart slam shut. He struggled not to react and draw attention to himself.

"Well, at least you admit to that now. But you get my point. You wouldn't be upset with her?"

"Of course I would," Hermione corrected. "But I'd rather have my best friend."

"Even if he was your _one true love_?" Pansy sighed dramatically.

"You'll find another love, Pansy," comforted Hermione and there was no hesitation in her voice; only certainty. "Theodore is obviously not that man. The man that deserves you will soon realize how great you are and will treat you with the love, affection, and respect you deserve. He won't leave you."

Just then, Ginny Weasley cleared her throat loudly, alerting the two girls of her presence. She held up a bag of lemon drops.

"I heard you were sick from Draco Malfoy," Ginny said darkly, her eyes narrowing at Pansy. "I came to visit you."

"I'm glad," Hermione said sweetly, beckoning the redhead toward her.

"I guess I should go," Pansy stated dryly, her eyes mirroring Ginny's as she rose from the bed. "Get better, Granger."

"Thank you," Hermione called after her.

Draco clung to the curtain as Pansy passed, her feet stamping the ground hurriedly. She was obviously a bit ticked by Ginny's abrasiveness.

"I brought these for you," Ginny said simply, dropping the small packet of lemon drops on Hermione's blanket. "I know how they help settle your stomach."

"Thank you, Gin," Hermione said, opening the package and popping one into her mouth. "I've missed you. I haven't seen you much lately."

"And whose fault is that?" the redhead demanded tersely.

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she furrowed her eyebrows in surprise and confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You obviously have new priorities now that are more important than your _real_ friends," Ginny snapped.

"Are you talking about Pansy?" asked Hermione, sighing. "Really, Ginny. You know she's my partner. She heard I was sick and came to see me, update me on our project. That's all."

"Pansy, huh?" scoffed Ginny. "Since when are you on first name basis with her? And since when are you _friends_ with Draco Malfoy?"

"Ginny_—"_

"First Malfoy and the ridiculous Zabini character and now Parkinson?" she spat.

"She really has changed, Ginny. You should get to know her. You two might find that you have a lot in common."

"In common," laughed Ginny bitterly. "Seriously? With that horrible skank?"

Draco fumed.

"You spend more time with them than you spend time with us!" continued Ginny hotly. "How long has it been since you've spoken to Neville about something _not_ school related? Did you know that he and Hannah are now officially dating each other?"

Hermione shook her head, biting her lip. Draco could see tears welling up in her eyes.

"If you will just—" Hermione started, but the redhead cut her off.

"And worst of all I find out you are sick from _Draco Malfoy," _Ginny hollered, her face almost as red as her hair. "_I'm_ supposed to be your best friend."

"Ginny, you are," Hermione protested.

"Then why do I suddenly feel like I've been replaced by snakes in the grass?" Ginny whispered icily.

"Ginny, knock it off," Hermione suddenly snapped. "Quite frankly, I am tired of your attitude and I'm exhausted over putting up with it."

Draco tried to restrain from laughing at the sight of Ginny's face.

"Might I remind you that Draco is the Head Boy and I am the Head Girl?" continued Hermione fiercely. "We share the same bathroom. We share the same common room. We are together all the time because we have to be, and despite everything he's done, he has changed for the better. Maybe if you would stop being so damn prideful and closed minded all the time, you would open your eyes and see that everyone in this godforsaken castle has changed."

Ginny opened her mouth but it was now Hermione's turn to interrupt.

"I'm not finished quite yet," Hermione stated. "As for you, Neville, and me, we've all been busy, Ginny. Neville has his internship, you are the captain of a Quidditch team, and I'm Head Girl. We all have huge responsibilities that take up the majority of our time and I really do try my best at trying to spend time with you. It's against the rules to let you sleep over in the Head Dorm, but I do it anyway so that we can catch up. I'm not the only one with fault here."

Hermione took a deep breath, calming herself.

"And as for Pansy, Blaise, and Draco, they are actually pretty pleasant people, once you get to know them," Hermione said. "They're human, just like us. They don't come from perfect families, they don't have perfect pasts. And you are the only one I see lately who seems to have changed. Weren't you the one in the beginning of the year who told me I was being ridiculous for not tolerating Draco? That told me he had changed? Weren't you the one who, even though you had a bad feeling about Pieter Kartrick, decided it would be best not to pass judgment on someone you didn't know?"

Ginny remained quiet.

"You don't know Draco's heart the way I do. You don't know Blaise's humor the way I do. And you don't know Pansy's hurt the way I do," Hermione snapped. "I'm trying to do my duty as Head Girl and be an example. Show the school and its students that it is okay to look past someone's past and accept them as new people."

He never thought, in all his days, that he would witness Hermione Granger sticking up for him and his friends to her best friend.

"You are seriously pulling the school excuse on me?" Ginny snarled. "Oh, perfect little Hermione Granger with her Prefect's badge, her S.P.E.W badges, her dreams of changing the world, her Head Girl badge. Not everyone is like you, Miss Perfect."

"I'm hardly perfect," Hermione argued.

"Then stop pretending you are doing this all for the greater good," Ginny demanded. "Something in you snapped when you were taken over the summer. You came back broken and you're still broken. I see right through you every bloody day. You've changed into someone I don't think I want to be friends with anymore. Defending Death Eaters and murderers like they're house elves."

"People make mistakes and move on!" Hermione hollered. "House prejudices shouldn't exist and that is why we have so many classes with the Slytherins, why I am paired with Draco, why I was partnered with Pansy Parkinson for a project, and why we now sit by the Slytherin table. Get on board, Ginny, and lose the pity party and the pride. Otherwise, you are going to end up pathetic and alone."

"I swear I don't know who you are anymore."

"That makes for two of us," Hermione deadpanned. "And if all you came to do was yell at me for trying to put my life together and do my job, when I'm lying in a hospital bed, you can get the hell out, because it is evident to me that you don't care about me quite as much as I thought you did. Perhaps I'm starting to realize who my true friends are."

Ginny's lip curled.

"In case you didn't understand, that meant that I think you should leave now before I ask Madame Promfrey to do it for me."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Draco jumped. He hadn't seen Professor Thorne come in. How long had he been there? Had he seen Draco?

"No, Professor, I was just leaving," Ginny said tightly, pushing past the dark haired professor.

She slammed the doors behind her.

"I apologize, but I couldn't help overhearing," Thorne told Hermione, taking a few steps toward her. "If you aren't up for visitors, I will leave. I was just on my lunch break and just wanted to check on how you are faring. I heard from the Malfoy boy that you had a pretty bad fall."

_The Malfoy boy?_ Draco thought sardonically. _Because you are so much older than me, Thorne._

She nodded. "You're more than welcome, sir."

"I brought you the assignment we did in class today," he said, handing her a packet. "I figured, if I know you at all, that you would be stressing out far too much if you got behind."

Draco simmered. He had specifically asked Thorne earlier that day for an extra assignment so that he could bring it to Hermione, because _he_ knew her too well.

"Thank you," she said with a watery smile. "You know me so well."

_Prick,_ Draco snarled internally.

"You really should smile more often, Hermione," he told her, brushing a coil of hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. "You are quite the beautiful young woman, even so, but your smile becomes you more than tears."

Draco roared inside. How _dare_ he touch her! She wasn't his! She was—

He sighed darkly. She wasn't his to claim, either. He had to remind himself of that. He had no hold on her, no title tying their relationship together. It was time he learned that, just like her smile became her, his Slytherin possessiveness did not become him.

Just then, the bell rang. Draco smile wickedly as Thorne sighed and Hermione frowned in disappointment.

_How can she possibly like that prat?_

"Ah, alas, it is time to return to my doom," he chuckled and Hermione smiled, laughing softly.

He rose from her bedside and, before he left, she took his hand and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered. "It means a great deal that you would take the time to see me. I consider you a very dear friend."

"And I as well, my dear," he answered. "I hope to see you in class tomorrow."

She nodded, releasing his hand and watching him depart.

As Professor Thorne was leaving, he stopped part-way out the door and turned ever so slightly toward Draco.

"And if I were you, Mr. Malfoy, I would head to class and take a lesson in eavesdropping on other people's conversations," Thorne whispered, eyeing him.

He was gone before Draco even had time to register he'd been caught. Draco, all out of time, half considered ditching out on Arithmancy to talk to Hermione, but he was more than certain Professor Thorne knew what class he had. Draco wouldn't put it past him to blab about Draco's whereabouts to Vector.

Sighing, Draco decided to bring her dinner instead, and let the lunch plate fall unceremoniously into the trash bin by the door. The next two classes were the most painful periods of his life. He didn't want to admit that he was anxious to see Hermione and have her to himself for a few moments.

When dinner rolled around, he loaded a plate of things he figured Hermione would enjoy and headed up to see her. Luckily, when he arrived, there were no other visitors.

She was engrossed in her silly Muggle novel, the one she'd claimed to have read over ten times. She looked so peaceful, smiling slightly at something in the novel. She turned the page, twirling a piece of golden hair around her slender finger. She licked her lips.

Those perfect, seashell pink lips_—_

"Knock, knock," Draco said, clearing his throat and shaking his head to clear his absurd thoughts.

"Draco," she exclaimed. "What a surprise."

"I brought you dinner," Draco said casually. "And homework."

She took the plate from his hands eagerly and he placed the homework on her bedside.

"How sweet," she said suspiciously, eyeing the herb chicken, bread roll, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese.

"I figured it would be simple enough on your stomach," he informed her, gesturing to the plate.

"Thank you," she replied. "I'm actually quite famished. Do you mind?"

"Granger, I brought you the food to eat, not stare at. Of course I don't mind."

She rolled her eyes, smirking, and forked some macaroni into her mouth. Her eyes closed in delight.

"I've missed food," she whimpered.

"Take it easy," he warned. "I don't want you upchucking all over the place again."

They conversed simply as she picked at her meal. When she was finished, he pointed his wand at the water jug on her bedside table and filled it up for her, pouring her a glass.

She wrinkled her nose.

"Granger, drink," he commanded. "You ended up in here because of dehydration."

"Very well," she whined, complying and swallowing the water slowly.

"More."

Sighing again, she pressed the cup to her lips and drank the rest of it.

"Happy?" she verified and he nodded.

"Well, I suppose I should head back, let you get your rest and all," Draco said.

"Don't leave."

He turned around, raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I said, don't leave," she repeated, frowning. "Draco, I'm so bored, and despite the fact that I've had nothing more to do than lie in a hospital bed all day with my novel, I've had a very rotten day. Do you think you could keep me company for a little while longer?"

"Tell you what, how about I go finish my rounds early and come back before curfew?" he proposed.

"I'd like that."

He left her to do his rounds, wondering where their relationship was headed. Weeks ago he hadn't been speaking to her and now she was referring to him to other people as her friend and sticking up for him? Had so much really changed in such a short amount of time?

When he finished his rounds, he hurried back to the Hospital Wing.

"I was starting to wonder if you were going to come back," Hermione said by way of greeting.

He sunk into the chair next to her bed and smirked.

"I said I would, didn't I?"

"I've never known a Slytherin to keep promises," she teased and he smirked again.

"I think I'm rubbing off on you, Granger," he expressed and she waved him off. "I see you're reading that horrid novel again."

"I'm rather offended," she said, clutching the book to her chest.

His eyes zoned in on her breasts and he swallowed, diverting his eyes before she noticed where his mind had suddenly slipped to.

"Darcy seems like such an arse. I don't see why women fancy him so much," Draco commented. "And that Bingsley fellow is a weak skinned fop."

"Mr. Bingley happens to be very kind-hearted and shy," defended Hermione. "And actually, Mr. Darcy reminds me a lot of you."

"So, you're saying I'm an arse?" he paraphrased.

"No," she laughed, thwacking him on the arm. "I'm saying you can be stubborn and prideful and can come off as a self absorbed ponce, but deep down there's a lot more going on inside you than you let on."

"You're full of rubbish and so it that book," Draco said.

"Give it a chance. Read this chapter and you'll see what I'm talking about," Hermione said, handing him the book.

"Must I?" he sighed dramatically.

"Yes, you simply must," she said, chuckling. "Indulge me."

"Oh, very well," he said. "I'll read it out loud, shall I?"

She smiled.

When he was done with the chapter, he could see where she was coming from, but he wasn't about to let her assume she won this argument.

"It's been a very long time since someone has read to me," she said, yawning, her eyes drooping. "Not since I was a little girl."

"Your father used to read you poetry, didn't he?" Draco said, remembering something he'd overheard her say one day.

She raised her eyebrows.

"You remember that?"

He nodded.

"You're full of surprises, Draco," she told him.

"Get some sleep, Granger," he said in response, smirking. "You're very tired and I'm afraid if I stay any longer, your mind will leave its right state and you might try to have your way with me."

She laughed loudly.

"Did Draco Malfoy just say I was in my right mind?"

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Don't twist my words, you lunatic," he said. "I just can't keep up with all the crazy. Now get to bed."

"Yes, Mother," she responded, pulling her blanket up to her chin and turning away from him.

As she drifted to sleep, he placed the novel on her bedside table, appraising it for another moment.

"Eh, I suppose that novel isn't all that bad," he whispered and headed toward the door.

He didn't see the triumphant smile slowly creep onto Hermione's face.


	21. Desires

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** An update has finally arrived! I miss hearing reviews from my loyal readers, so please review and let me know what you think!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty<em>

_Desires_

* * *

><p><em>I know you've suffered,<br>But I don't want you to hide,  
>It's cold and loveless,<br>I won't let you be denied  
>Soothing, I'll make you feel pure,<br>Trust me, you can be sure  
>I want to reconcile the violence in your heart<br>I want to recognize your beauty is not just a mask,  
>I want to exorcise the demons from your past,<br>I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart  
><em>

__"Undisclosed Desires"_—Muse_  
><em>_

* * *

><p>The first week of December brought with it a blizzard.<p>

It was the last Hogsmeade visit the students would be permitted to take before Christmas break, which meant for the vast majority of Hogwarts, a mad dash for suitable gowns and tuxes for the ball. Quite a few had sent money home to parents to have them owl them their masquerade costumes, but a fair amount of students still trampled through the snow to catch the carriages headed to the nearby village.

Hermione, herself would be visiting Hogsmeade, but first she needed to make a quick visit to the owlry. She headed down the stairs and toward the entrance, squeezing her way through the horde of students hoping to catch the first round of carriages. It was snowing lightly outside in flurries and Hermione pulled her knit hat further down her head, over her ears.

She spotted Ginny a few paces ahead, waiting for a carriage with Luna and Padma. Hermione knew exactly what they were doing, because she had been planning to go with them before her spat with Ginny. They were going dress shopping, just like she and Pansy would be, despite the fact that Hermione had no date.

As she climbed into a carriage, Ginny caught sight of Hermione and stiffened. For a short moment, they acknowledged each other in stony silence before Ginny quickly snapped the carriage door shut behind her.

Hermione sighed, hoping her anger wouldn't last long, but she wasn't about to apologize to the fiery girl for her views. If she wanted to be a child and live in the past, it was up to her.

The owlry loomed over her and the snow nipped at her nose. She hurried inside the tower, climbing the stairs. She found her cubby, grabbed the package, and grinned. It was from her parents. Quickly, she opened the letter attached to the small package and scanned over it.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_We received your last letter, but it has been a few weeks since we've heard from you. We know you are probably very busy, especially with the holidays coming up. _

_So, a masquerade, hm? How exciting! Have you found a date, yet? Bet you have lots of young fellows knocking at your door. _

_We hope you have a wonderful time. Hopefully, this will give you inspiration on your costume. _

_Love, _

_Mum & Dad_

Hermione sighed, tearing open the package. Inside it was a glossy black mask with a black feather attached to its side. It was simple and would go with anything, most likely why her parents had sent it to her. It was very kind of them, and normally she would be excited, but it just depressed her.

She had no date and the ball was only a few nights away; there was no way to snag a date now. How embarrassing, showing up to a masquerade ball that she had planned, with no date. _And_ she was Head Girl, which meant she had to show her face.

Thankfully, it was a masquerade. Hopefully, no one would really recognize her.

She pouted.

She didn't even have friends to attend the ball with. She really was alone.

Just then, she heard a rather disturbing sound. Gulping down her sorrow, she tucked her mask into her cloak, deposited her letter to Harry, and glanced over the balcony. Under the stairs was a couple, completely immersed in their passion and wrapped up in each other.

Hermione tried to descend the stairs without making herself known to the passionate couple, but she wasn't so lucky.

"Oh, oh dear," stuttered the girl, recognizing the Head Girl and jumping away from the boy.

"Astoria?" Hermione gasped, glancing between her and Theodore Nott.

Astoria's gooseberry green eyes grew wide and her cheeks flushed.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized. "I was just dropping off a letter."

She had no idea what to say. Talk about awkward.

"I should go," Hermione said and hurried to the exit.

"Wait," Astoria called, tearing down the snowy slope after her. "Hermione, wait!"

Hermione paused, tucking her ears into her hat and bracing herself against the icy wind.

"It wasn't what it looked like," Astoria gasped, her eyes sparking with tears.

"Astoria, it really isn't my business," Hermione muttered, turning.

"Wait," Astoria said again, grabbing her arm. "How is Pansy?"

"Pansy?" Hermione repeated.

"You two have gotten really close and I just wondered if she's said anything to you," she whispered. "I just...is she doing okay? I'm worried about her, but she won't speak to me."

Hermione shuffled her frozen feet.

"She's not okay, but she's better than she was," Hermione confided.

"You probably think I'm a horrible person."

"I don't," protested Hermione. "I just think you have your priorities a little scattered."

She nodded, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I love him. I know I was horrible to have felt such things while he was dating my best friend, but how can you prevent yourself from feeling something so powerful?"

"I can't imagine any of this is easy, for any of you," Hermione comforted. "Don't give up on Pansy. She'll come around eventually. Just give it time."

Astoria nodded, clearing her throat.

"Thanks, Hermione," she said softly. "I always knew you were a good person."

With that, she turned on her heel and headed back to the owlry, back to the arms of her lover.

Hermione, freezing, trekked back to the dorm to dry off and relax before the next round of carriages came. When she arrived, the common room was aglow with the light emitting from the fireplace. The flames cackled and snapped, greeting her warmly. Outside, the wind howled and rattled the windows, urging itself entrance.

Hermione shivered, drenched. It was only then that she noticed Draco on the couch, sleeping fitfully. He kept tossing and turning, writhing violently on the couch. His face, contorted in pain, was pale and ashen. For a moment, she wondered if he was sick and took a step toward him.

Then, she spotted the ring on his finger, how it was a blazing crimson color instead of its usual emerald. He was having another nightmare.

"No. Please," Draco gasped roughly.

Hermione jolted at the sound of his voice, but he was still deep in his slumber.

"No!" he cried desperately, his voice cracking. "Leave her alone."

Hermione cringed, knowing the nightmare was mostly likely about her, since he claimed that's all he dreamt about now. Feeling strangely guilty, Hermione trudged up the stairs to deposit her cloak before returning downstairs with a towel so she could shower.

The warmth of the water felt delightful as it ran down her chilled body, engulfing her in steam. Once she emerged, dripping wet and a nice flush to her skin, she wrapped a towel around her. Opening the door a smidge, she noticed that Draco was no longer in sight and must have retired to his room. Since the coast was clear, she opened the door wider and tip-toed toward the stairs.

Just then, Draco rounded the corner and began descending the stairs, slapping his cheeks and rubbing his eyes.

"Get out of my head," he grumbled. His navy blue shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing his lean and muscular arms, and nearly half the buttons weren't buttoned, exposing the bareness of his chest.

Her heart slammed in her chest and her eyes wandered back to the bathroom, wondering if she had enough time to make a quick dash back into it before Draco could notice her.

She didn't.

He took one look at her dripping frame and came to a halt.

"Granger," he said hoarsely, "you're in a towel."

"Observant," Hermione countered airily, irritated. "And you are almost shirtless, _again._"

"Would you prefer that?" he asked delicately, drawing closer to her.

"No."

"Are you sure?" he purred.

"Quite," she bit back, not liking how he was making her feel. Still, he stood in her way, blocking her path. "Let me pass, Draco."

"Is that what you want?"

"If you don't move, I will be forced to hex you," she threatened, glaring at him.

"I don't see your wand, Granger," he noted, his eyes raking themselves up and down her body. "Empty threats don't work on me."

She shivered at the look in his eyes, at the way he teased her. Startled, she wondered what was happening to her, wondering why she no longer had a comeback or a witty reply.

"I-I...Will you move?" she stuttered desperately.

He was far too close now. She could smell his scent and greedily took it in. Spearmint, pine, expensive cologne. His breath caressed the sensitive, naked skin of her neck.

"Is that _really_ what you want, Granger?" he breathed into her ear and she nearly capsized, her knees wobbling dangerously.

_Walk away!_ demanded her mind, but her body refused to take instruction.

A mere centimeter away from connecting his lips to hers and her body betrayed her. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath hitched in her chest and whispered away too fast from her lungs.

"That's what I thought."

Her eyes snapped open, slamming her back into reality. A heated flush swept over her body and she clenched her fists. He shut the bathroom door in response, winking at her. Breathless and flustered, Hermione stomped up to her room to change.

She couldn't help but notice how her heart raced excitedly at the thought of coming so close to kissing Draco. No matter how much her brain stubbornly argued that there was no substance between them, the rest of her body and organs said otherwise.

To her immense pleasure, when she descended the stairs moments later, Draco was still in the bathroom. She escaped the common room and tore furiously through the castle until she spotted Pansy.

"Took you long enough," Pansy muttered, opening a carriage door and hoisting herself up into it. "It's freezing, Granger. Might I remind you that I'm only doing this for you because it is pathetic to go dress shopping by yourself?"

"Blame it on Draco," Hermione said in response, closing the carriage door behind her.

"I always do," joked Pansy, winking. She shivered involuntarily. "I'm not much of a shopper, I should warn you, and it's bloody cold outside so I'm not going to be in the best of moods if we stay at Hogsmeade for very long."

"Not a problem," Hermione said. "I'm not a shopper either. I'll probably pick the dress that grabs my attention first and get it."

"I'm liking you better every day."

They shared a small smile and conversed quietly with each other until they arrived at Hogsmeade. By the time they reached their desired dress shop, the storm had reached an impossible wind speed, slicing into their skin as they sunk into the snowy ground.

The bell chimed above the door upon their entrance into the warm dress shop. The store held a cheery atmosphere and was packed full with last minute shoppers like them.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show her feminine side."

Hermione tensed and Pansy rolled her eyes, both turning around to face the curly black haired girl.

"Friends now, are we?" Romilda questioned, gesturing to them with a smirk. "Never though I'd see the two of you _dress_ shopping together."

"Sod off," Pansy scoffed, stepping closer to Hermione. Her close, even somewhat protective, stance next to Hermione caused Romilda to raise an eyebrow. "Just hearing your voice makes me want to puke."

"Aw, what's got you in such a sour mood, Parkinson?" Romilda taunted. "Dear old Mummy didn't send you enough money to buy a dress, or to bribe someone to be your date?"

Pansy's indigo eyes flashed an unpleasant shade of dark purple and she festered beside Hermione.

"You cold-hearted wench," Pansy hissed, her voice cracking.

Hermione suddenly felt the need to intercede, alarmed by how emotional Pansy was getting.

"Romilda, Pansy is helping me decide what to wear to the ball," Hermione explained calmly, "and we would appreciate some privacy."

"Right, because you have a date and everything," Romilda scoffed. "Why even bother showing up, Granger? It's pretty pathetic, if you ask me, that even the Head Girl of Hogwarts can't manage to snag a man for one night. But who can blame them? Even _Weasley_ didn't want you."

Heat coursed through her veins and she trembled.

"Hah, yeah and who're _you_ going with, tramp?" Pansy chuckled darkly.

"My boyfriend, of course," the curly haired girl responded.

"You mean that Kartrick kid? You actually think you mean jack shit to him?"

"He loves me."

"Oh my God. You are so delusional," Pansy laughed.

"Romilda, I really don't think that's not a good idea," Hermione warned, all anger dissipating into immense concern at the mention of Pieter.

"Stay out of it, Granger," spat a now venomous Romilda. "Pieter told me how obsessed you were with him."

"You are bat-shit crazy! You really think that she would be attracted to a disgusting prick like him?"

Romilda shook her head and began walking away.

"_He's _the one who was obsessed with _her_! Everyone with even half a _peanut_ of a brain can see that!" Pansy shouted after her.

"Just forget it," Hermione whispered, grabbing Pansy's shoulder and steering her toward the back of the shop. "There's no use talking sense into her."

"Oh, I _hate _her," seethed Pansy.

"You sound like Ginny," Hermione attempted to laugh but her chuckle lodged itself deep inside her throat.

"You two still fighting?" Pansy ventured and Hermione nodded.

"It's fine. She'll come around; she always does."

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" Pansy smirked as Hermione sifted through the racks for possible dress options.

"How do you mean?" Hermione asked, holding up a floor-length crimson number to her front and gazing in the mirror.

"Well, for one, we're both having issues with our best friend."

Before Hermione could remark, Pansy turned her eyes on Hermione. Her jaw dropped a fraction downward and the dark blue dress she'd been holding as an option for Hermione slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor.

"Holy Merlin's corkscrew!" Pansy exclaimed, coming to her side. "You have to buy this."

Hermione frowned at herself in the mirror. The dress was beautiful with a corseted top and sweetheart neckline, tied with black laces in the back. The skirt dripped like newly shed blood to the ground, trimmed in black lace and silver beading. It came with black lace opera gloves with little red bows on the end of them.

"I don't know," she protested. "It seems a little too bold for me."

"So? It's the perfect opportunity to be bold and forget yourself. You'll be at a bloody masquerade. If you don't buy this, I'll buy it for you."

"All right, all right," Hermione laughed, tracing her fingers over the black trim adoringly. "It _would_ go perfect with my mask."

Pansy practically pushed her to the counter to pay, as if scared she would back out if given enough time.

"You know what they labeled this dress?" Pansy asked as they were walking out of the store and back to the carriages, glancing at the price tag.

"Hm?"

The snow had stopped for the moment, making it easier for them to find their way to the carriage, but the sky was still dark with gray.

"'The Temptress'," Pansy read, glancing up at her with a haughty smirk. "Just who are you trying to tempt, missy?"

Pansy poked her in the ribs and together they entered their carriage, laughing loudly. As the carriage pulled away toward the castle, Hermione, for the first time since she approved the masquerade, felt hopeful for the night to come.


	22. Moondance

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N: **This, ladies and gentleman, was a very fun chapter to write for me. I hope you all enjoy reading it like I enjoyed writing it.

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-One<em>

_Moondance_

* * *

><p><em>Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds.<br>Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you.  
>Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads.<br>Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you.  
>Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies.<br>Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you.  
>Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes.<br>Masquerade! Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you._

_"Masquerade"_—The Phantom of the Opera_  
><em>

* * *

><p>A small, strangled gurgling sound escaped Hermione's parched throat as she glimpsed at the clock on her bedside table through the reflection in the mirror.<p>

"Oh, where did the time go?" she fretted, fluttering about the room. She fanned herself, starting to perspire. "It's far too hot."

"Relax," soothed a tranquil voice from behind her. "It's fashionable to be late to these types of events, believe me, I know from experience."

"Not when you are Head Girl," Hermione breathed roughly, sinking into her seat in front of the vanity. She grasped fistfulls of wild curls and pulled on them until her head ached. "And of course, my hair decides to rebel against me on the _one_ night I need its cooperation."

"We'll fix it. Stop fidgeting and let me help or we'll never make it down there in time."

A cool palm grazed her shoulder comfortingly and Hermione sucked in a deep breath. Her eyes glanced over to her bed, where her gown lay awaiting her touch. Her eyes fluttered back to the mirror, to her wide ocher doe-eyes, shimmering with wild anticipation.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, clutching the small hand on her shoulder.

"Really, you must stop thanking me," Astoria chastised. "I offered, remember? You've had your hands tied with all the last minute catering changes and decorations. It's the least I can do after all you've done to make tonight so magnificent for everyone."

"I'll need help with my dress," Hermione said in response, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat at Astoria's kindness. After everything that had happened in the last few weeks and all the chaos, it was nice to have some genuine kindness for someone.

"It cinches in the back."

Astoria patted her shoulder before starting on Hermione's hair. They went through several hairstyles before Hermione nodded in approval. Astoria got to work, weaving her hair in and out, pressing down and tugging. While Astoria worked her magic, Hermione inspected her face in the mirror—blemishes hidden under ivory foundation, cheeks rosy with rouge, eyelids frosted with dark shadow and silver, lips plump with sunset scarlet.

Hermione, once again, found herself worrying that her appearance was "too bold". Like Pansy, however, Astoria had strongly disagreed with Hermione, telling her it was high time she let loose and have some fun.

"There, all done," Astoria said, adjusting the vanity mirror so Hermione could see herself better. "What do you think?"

"Oh, Astoria, it's beautiful," Hermione gasped, taking in her elegant up-do, cascading over with voluptuous curls and tiny red silk flowers.

"Thank you," she giggled, fetching Hermione's dress. "Here, lift your arms high over your head."

Hermione did as she was told and the satin of the dress slipped gracefully over her figure, pillowing out on the wooden floor.

Astoria's eyebrows sailed high into her hairline when she caught sight of the corset ties, but she said nothing as she fastened the endless rows of black laces. When she had finally tightened Hermione's waist as far as it could go without her fainting, Astoria let out a soft murmur of approval. The bold red satin shimmered in the dim lights of the room like a freshly manufactured ruby.

"Oh, Hermione," Astoria sighed wistfully. "You look so beautiful."

Hermione smiled in satisfaction and appraised Astoria also. She was dressed in a rich jade gown which complimented the color of her eyes wondrously, her golden hair falling in loose, soft curls down her back.

"Tonight is going to be perfect, isn't it?" Astoria sighed happily, obviously thinking of Theo.

Suddenly aware of how much time had passed, Hermione turned to her new friend. "Astoria, you need to get going. The ball has already started."

"Where are you meeting your date?" Astoria asked, noticing the time. "Shouldn't he have—?"

"No need to worry about that. Please go on, and thank you so much for your help. Enjoy your night."

"I'll see you there?" Astoria wavered by the door, slipping on her sequined green mask.

It took a few more minutes of coaxing, but at last Astoria left. Left alone to her thoughts, Hermione pulled on her long black lace gloves and moved about the room anxiously, going over a mental list in her head of anything she might need to do before attempting to enjoy herself for the evening.

Catering, check. Decorations, triple check. Date? No, still no kind gentleman to escort her glamoured form to the ball. No Victor Krum this time.

Lightly wringing her hands, she took a deep, steadying breath, only to have it lodge deep in her throat. Anticipation tingled in her fingertips and a sense of foreboding enveloped her, squeezing her until it was too much to bear, until the room was too warm and closed in that she fled down the steps and into the cool stone corridor.

The strains of classical music intensified the closer she drew to the Great Hall which had been transformed into a ballroom, her heels clapping on the stone and echoing around her eerily. She tensed in the shadows, ill at ease. She glanced down the grand staircase, past clusters of conversing, excited couples, to where Ginny stood, alone, near a stone column.

Several couples parted in glittering sequined waves to the left and right, faceless, clearing the wide staircase at her decent. Behind their sequined and feathered masks, awed comments sprang left and right. Hermione lifted her chin bravely as she reached the bottom of the stairs and followed the line of couples into the Great Hall. Heat rushed her cheeks and she was thankful for her mask.

"Who is that, do you think?" asked someone passing by her.

"No idea, but I love her dress," another said.

She couldn't help but glance at Ginny once more, dressed in such pristine white she seemed to glow. Her claret hair danced pin-straight past her shoulders, a fiery halo against angelic gossamer. Oh, if Harry could see her! Hermione sighed, wanting nothing more than to share the night with her best friend. Beside Ginny was her 'strictly friends, no strings attached' date, Ernie Macmillan. Everyone knew Ginny's serious attachment with Harry, and though they had cooled their relationship for the remainder of her school year so there would be no distractions, Hermione knew Ginny's heart was never far away from Harry.

Next to them was no doubt Neville, looking dashing in a onyx tuxedo, a beautiful Hannah Abbott on his arm. No one seemed to recognize Hermione, which she was grateful for. Pain gripped her as she watched her friends pass right by her without any acknowledgement. She wondered if they even missed her, even thought of her anymore.

She glided in after them, drawing all sorts of gazes. The Great Hall was a new place, the stone walls transformed into glimmering marble. The enchanted ceiling was alight with winter snow, which drifted upon the dancers and clung the velvet red tapestries lining the marble walls. The banquet table was a brilliant, warm gold overflowing with never-ending bowls of punch and eggnog and cider, plates with gourmet desserts and honey glaze ham.

"Decided to show up after all?"

Hermione turned about, spotting Pansy. She was dressed from head to toe in royal blue, a swooping neckline showing far too much cleavage than Hermione was openly comfortable with. She carried her mask in her hand. Beside her stood Blaise and his date, looking equally stunning.

"You look beautiful," Hermione complimented, giving her hand a small squeeze. "That dress must have cost a fortune."

"Not that it would be a problem if it did," Blaise stated, winking at Hermione and nudging Pansy.

"Where's Draco?" inquired Hermione, noticing his absence.

"He went to touch on some final things with McGonagall. I'll be meeting up with him later."

"Looking good, Granger," Blaise commented and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your date?" Hermione prodded and his eyes lit up as if just registering he came with someone.

"Of course," Blaise responded smoothly, wrapping his arm around the woman next to him. "This is Jess."

She was tall and lithe and draped in black with long auburn hair and brazen turquoise eyes. Hermione had seen her around a few times, but she mostly just kept to herself.

"Good to finally meet you," Hermione said and introduced herself.

When she spoke, Jess carried a strong accent. Something that sounded similar to German.

"So you went to Durmstrang, is that correct?" Hermione asked and Jess nodded. "Did you know Victor Krum?"

"Why?" Jess asked, narrowing her hard blue eyes.

"Only wondering," Hermione said. "Viktor and I are friends."

"Everyone is friends with Viktor, but yes, I know him," Jess replied thickly.

"And I'm guessing you know Professor Thorne?"

Jess suddenly lit up, nodding. "Yes, of course. He was my favorite professor. He and I were very close. We had a group in school of a few select students that he'd allow to help him on his research."

Hermione furrowed her brow. Research? She was about to question this further when Blaise cut her off.

"Speaking of Thorny," he grumbled.

"Professor!" exclaimed Jess.

"You again," Professor Thorne said and Hermione whipped around. Where did he come from? "Miss...forgive me, but I'm quite terrible with names."

"Jessica," said the tall girl. "Professor, that's the fourth time you've done this. Either you are being annoying amusing by feigning forgetfulness or you have severe memory loss."

"I'm sorry, my dear, you'll have to forgive me," Professor Thorne laughed uncomfortably. "There are many students in this school."

"Students that were in your research group at Durmstrang?" Jess prodded.

At the mention of this, Professor Thorne grew frighteningly still. It was barely even a second, but Hermione noticed an odd twitch in his eye, followed by a strange quake in his hands, and for one moment she swore she'd seen his normally amber eyes blaze black.

"Excuse me," he said hurriedly and wandered over to the banquet table.

"I don't think he's drinking pumpkin juice by the look on his face."

Hermione turned around just in time to see Professor Thorne in the distance, finishing up the liquid in his goblet. For a moment he looked violently ill, but he soon recovered and replaced the mask on his face, just as someone stepped in front of Hermione, blocking her view.

"That's really odd," Jess stated, turning back to Pansy and Blaise. "I don't understand why he doesn't remember me."

"Maybe he's got a horrible memory," Blaise suggested, getting bored. "Anyway, enough about Thorny; let's dance."

Blaise led her away, disappearing into the crowd.

"I should go find Draco," Pansy sighed, checking the time. "I'll meet up with you later?"

Hermione nodded, watching as she danced away into the mist of students.

"May I have this dance?" asked a familiar, darkly musical voice.

Hermione turned slowly, gazing up at a fully recovered Dimitri Thorne. She opened her mouth (to protest or agree?), but her reply never seeped out. Before she could reply, his hand was upon her waist, his other clasping her fingers. Entwined, he spun them about in a graceful, fluid arc, his steps never faltering. They drifted through the crowd flawlessly fast, spinning and weaving, yet they never ran into a single person.

They made several smooth turns around the ballroom before he chanced a smile at her.

"I trust you are enjoying your evening?"

She clutched his muscular shoulder, loving the feel of his velvet sleeve on her fingers.

"I'm beginning to," she declared, chuckling. "To be honest, I've mostly been occupying my thoughts with trying to find escape routes."

"Not one for large parties?" he assumed in amusement.

"How'd you guess?" she replied breathlessly, gazing up into his eyes.

She couldn't help but notice that strange electricity building up between them or the heat now festering and blooming in her abdomen. The feel of his firm and steady touch, his hand on her waist, his breath on her neck, suddenly woke every nerve ending in her body. His hand was cool against her waist, but Hermione felt overpowered with warmth, her head spinning more and more with every turn they made. Breathless, she was lost in him, moving with him like it was instinct.

"I may know you better than you might think," Thorne responded lightly.

His cool hand grazed the small of her back, bringing her nearer to him. His eyes were an intense amber, darker than usual and never gazing away from her own. The heat of his body, so close, yet strangely not close enough, then all of sudden much too close, warmed her with safety and comfort, thrilled her with an exciting adventure, and frightened her with a dangerous intensity.

A foreign feeling, so unfamiliar, urging her like some kind of hypnosis. She longed to surrender, yet at the same time she felt the need to retreat.

The music eventually came to a close and they paused their movement. He held her frozen, paralyzed, and she wondered if he could hear the erratic beats of her heart as she stared up at him through the mask. Suddenly, the room became fuzzy and she felt her body respond to him as if he held some strange power over her. Afraid of how she was feeling, yet unable for some reason to stop herself, she noticed how all of her defenses seemed to be shutting down.

And then he stepped away and the spell, whatever it was, was broken.

"Sir?" It was no more than a breath.

As the next song began, he released his tight grip on her waist, almost completely upsetting her balance. He took another step away from her, giving her a gentleman's bow.

"Miss Granger," he said.

Hermione struggled, faltering through a rush of frighteningly potent and spiraling emotions to acquire appropriate words, barely managing the smallest nod.

And just as soon as he had swept into her path, he was gone, lost in a sea of costumed dancers. All too sudden, heat overcame her. Without him beside her, suddenly the room was far too crowded, too small, too hot. Her breathing staggered, rushed away from her until the entire room began to spin.

_What's happening to me?_ she thought faintly.

Afraid of her whole world falling down on her, she rushed forward, hating how heavy her gown weighed down upon her hips.

"Excuse me," she gasped, grappling for the wall.

_Breathe,_ a voice in her brain urged. _Breathe, damn you!_

With a start, she realized she'd run the entire way out of the ball and up to the astronomy tower. The evening air was brisk with winter wind and slapped her face like an arctic kiss. Feeling caged, she stripped off her mask and let it clatter to the ground. She sucked the fresh air in greedily, gripping the ledge so hard her knuckles turned as white as the snow on the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

An abrupt change in atmosphere sent her heart stammering chaotically again. She could hear no sound of footsteps on the stones, though it failed to matter much to her quaking heart. She knew who it was. She sensed his presence, smelled his familiar, purifying scent.

"I thought that was you."

Her heart pounded wildly.

Hermione slowly turned and stood frozen in shock. Looking quite debonair in a crisp tuxedo with a dark blue vest, he stood at the threshold to the tower, beautifully alluring, like a fallen angel. Had she been short of breath before his entrance, it was nothing compared to the utter robbing of breath from her lungs that she now experienced. His mask glared black under the moonlight, a stark comparison to his snowy skin.

"You ran out of there like a bat out of hell," he remarked, coming closer.

Still, she could not breathe properly. It was making her head steamy, like a curtain of mist had seeped in through her ears and smothered her brain.

"You look...stunning," he said quietly and when his hand connected with hers, equally warm upon her flushed skin, she startled.

"Thank you," she managed.

"Are you okay? Pansy and I saw you standing in the middle of the dance floor, all alone, and we were on our way to you when you bolted."

"It was...hot," Hermione exhaled, focusing on her breath rather than the feel of his hand on her arm. "I needed...some air."

"What's wrong?" he wondered, worry etched across his face. He came closer but Hermione flinched. "What is it?"

She swallowed, shook her head furiously.

"I can't..."

He tore off his mask and it clattered to the floor next to hers.

"You have to know I'm here to protect you," he urged. "If something happened, if someone frightened you, you must tell me, so I can protect you."

"I don't need your protection," she said fiercely. "I am not weak and I don't need help! Do you understand me?"

Her powerful outburst left him speechless for several long seconds.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I don't know what came over me," she admitted. "I don't understand what I'm feeling."

His voice was soft and silky when he spoke. "Talk to me."

"I don't know how," she breathed, shaking. "Everything's so different. The tables have flipped upside down and I no longer know who is with me and who is against me. I don't know who to trust."

She was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, how his warmth was so close to hers, how his lips trembled and his eyes shined.

"Forget everything and everyone else for one moment," he whispered in her ear, his breath leaving kisses on her skin. "Tell me how it feels right now, with me."

"Overwhelming, frightening, horrible yet wonderful." Her voice trembled along with her body. "Comforting, confusing, safe..._open_."

He nodded, sighing as he took her hand in both of his. "It's okay to be vulnerable. I know you're scared and I know you've been trying to put on a brave face, trying not to let it show that whatever the hell is going on is killing you. And I think you're finally seeing that you can't do this alone. Trust me."

"I can't," Hermione stuttered. "I can't let myself. I'm better off on my own. I'm not the person you think I am."

"Let me see that, then. Let me in," Draco pleaded.

"Why should I? You never let me in," she protested hotly.

"That's a lie," he whispered fiercely. "I let you in every night when I close my eyes and you're all I see. I let you in when I pledge my life to keep you alive. I let you in every minute I'm with you because I can't help it."

Hermione blinked, swallowing painfully.

"I fought it and fought it, but I can't hold back the storm anymore, Hermione. You've made me vulnerable and I don't like it either, but I've stopped fighting it, Hermione, because I can't let you die. I won't. I need this."

"Need what?" she ventured timidly.

"Whatever we have here," he replied and pressed her hand to his chest. Beneath her fingers she could feel his heart burning like hers, scorching. "I need you to let me in. You can't keep pushing me away. Either something changes right here and now between you and me, or I can't do this anymore and for better or worse I walk away."

"I...you..." she stumbled over her words.

"Tell me that you need me and I'll stay," Draco whispered, cupping her cheek. "I promise."

Hermione flinched. "Don't promise me things you can't keep. Everyone leaves, Draco."

"I won't," Draco said curtly and there was promise in his words, but she just couldn't do it again.

"I don't need anyone. I've learned to live without needing anyone and I've been fine."

"Maybe, but you will never be more than just fine. Believe me, I know. You've helped me see that, Hermione, and I just wish I could give you what you've given me."

Hermione swallowed again, unable to form a response. They were inches away from each other's face, heated coursing through them.

"You know, this is the place my life changed," Draco stated hollowly. "This is the place I haven't been able to come up to since that night because I know first hand what I witnessed in this very spot. I vowed I would never let myself feel the pain of that night by coming up here. I vowed I would never let myself think of that hurt, that pain, that terrifying notion that I had no control, that I could have killed someone that night. Yet, here I stand, in the one place I was most afraid to come back to because it made me vulnerable. It made me face my past. And despite all of that, I'm up here for the first time in months, tonight, because of _you_."

Suddenly, Draco turned away, throwing her hands away from him as if he'd been burned. The ring on his finger glowed bright crimson. Abruptly, he turned toward the entrance of the tower as if to leave her in his dust.

"Why are you leaving?" she wondered, alarmed.

"Because if I don't leave right now I may do something that both of us might regret," he breathed harshly and began to retreat down the stairs.

Before she could stop herself, she found herself calling after him.

"Draco, wait."

His back still turned to her, he muttered, "Hermione, please. Just let me go."

"I just need you to answer one question for me, and then I promise I'll let you go and I'll never bother you again," she said.

When he turned around, his eyes were shining silver in the moonlight, bright and full of emotion. The floodgate had crashed, the walls had broken, and finally Hermione could see him, really, truly see him. He waited patiently for her question.

"When did I become Hermione to you?" she whispered.

"You've been Hermione for a while now, I just never had the courage to voice it," Draco replied.

"What does this mean?" Hermione asked, trembling. Did she really want to know the answer to that?

"I should go..." he protested, taking a step back.

"Say it again," she demanded suddenly, taking a bold step toward him. "Say my name."

"Hermione," he said quietly.

"Louder."

"_Hermione_."

"Now _answer_ me," Hermione nearly shouted, quaking with an emotion she was too afraid to express. "What does this mean?"

Growling deep in his throat, he lunged forward the rest of the distance between them and slapped his palms against her fiery cheeks, holding her fixed, and slammed her breathless body into the wall. His mouth was suddenly upon hers, hungrily seeking shelter within hers. She whimpered, the same need finally breaking through and exploding inside her.

Something seemed to break within him at the sound of her surrender and suddenly there were no chains. Both were vulnerable as they'd ever been, melting and forming into one another like they'd belonged as one the entire time. Heat raked their bodies in explosive snakes, her lips opening in a sigh beneath his and she brushed her tongue against his bottom lip, opening an invitation. He groaned in response.

Nothing else mattered to Hermione anymore but the blissful, expressive touch, the sweet smell of him all around her, the feel of his mouth on hers, hearts racing as one. His arms encircled her, releasing her face and giving her freedom. She tasted her tears, his tears. They broke together with shattering force.

Hermione clutched handfuls of his shirt as he hitched her leg around his waist. The smoke in her brain intensified until there were no thoughts, only his passion and hers. His kisses, deep and penetrating, lit her on fire to the point that she feared she would be consumed by flame. With the smoke completely overcoming her, her knees gave way and he caught her hard against his toned chest.

He tore his mouth away from hers, once again as if he'd been branded, and the breakage was worse than any pain she'd endured. Instantly, she needed him back. Needed his heat, his want, his emotion.

But there it was behind his eyes. A glimpse of fear and then...nothing. The wall was up again.

"Damn it," he snarled blackly. "Now you've done it. You should have just let me go."

Hermione blinked back tears as she watched him stalk off, leaving her briskly in the cold. His words would torment her for the rest of the night.

_"You should have just let me go."_


	23. Feelings

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** An update has finally arrived! I miss hearing reviews from my loyal readers, so please review and let me know what you think!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Two<em>

_Feelings_

* * *

><p><em><em>I cannot wake up in the morning<br>Without you on my mind  
>So you're gone and I'm haunted<br>And I'll bet you are just fine  
>Did I make it that easy to walk<br>Right in and out of my life  
>Goodbye, my almost lover<br>Goodbye, my hopeless dream  
>I'm trying not to think about you<br>__

__"Almost Lover"_—A Fine Frenzy_  
><em>_

* * *

><p>Now it was her turn to avoid him.<p>

"We need to talk."

It wasn't working very well.

"Leave me alone, Draco."

He had her cornered by the bathrooms at Hogsmeade station while students returning for the holidays waited impatiently in the cold for the Hogwarts Express. Two fifth years giggled past them, shutting themselves in the little girls room to gossip and apply makeup.

"We need to talk about what happened."

_Go away!_ she thought desperately.

The snow was coming down in large puffs now, dancing from the silver sky. Hermione shivered, clutching her robes closer to her body.

"Nothing happened."

Growling in frustration, he stepped closer to her. Her heart began to hammer horribly in her chest.

_Growling deep in his throat, he lunged forward the rest of the distance between them and slapped his palms against her fiery cheeks, holding her fixed, and slammed her breathless body into the wall._

Her eyes fluttered and suddenly she was back on the Astronomy tower, feeling his searing hands imprinting themselves on her skin, branding her and then leaving her almost as quickly as they'd come in contact with her. She remembered vaguely how he tore himself away from her and departed bitterly, as if he'd been burned.

Leaving her in the dust.

"Yes, something did. We kissed."

_His mouth was suddenly upon hers, hungrily seeking shelter within hers._ _  
><em>

Hermione trembled, a strange warmth boiling up in her stomach.

"You kissed _me."_

__She whimpered, the same need finally breaking through and exploding inside her.__

"You kissed me back."

For one moment, she almost lost her absolve, but then she remembered why she had taken such an effort to be rid of him in the first place.

_"Now you've done it. You should have just let me go."_

After all, _he_ had been the one to walk away.

He had been the one to regret his actions.

She had been determined to avoid him at all cost, pointedly ignoring him and going completely out of her way not to see him.

"Stop," she insisted. "Please."

"_Why_?" he demanded harshly.

"Because - " she started, but was suddenly interrupted by the two fifth year girls exiting the bathroom. They gave her and Draco a once over, gawking at their obvious tension, and continued on their way, whispering to each other. "_Because_ I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, it needs to be talked about, so stop avoiding it and stop avoiding me, for that matter. You are making my job very difficult right now."

"And what's that exactly?"

"Keeping you _safe,_" he hissed. "Or have you forgotten about this?"

He shoved his ring in my face, a stoic cruel emerald which held no warmth to it.

"Well, perhaps I don't wish for your help anymore."

"Don't be stupid," Draco snapped. "Whether you wish for my help or not, you need it, so stop being so damn proud. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings - "

"You _hardly_ hurt my - "

" - but you can't seriously expect me to just back off because we made some stupid mistake. It happened and there's no taking it back."

"I was the one who was emotional and vulnerable," Hermione said stiffly, "and you took advantage of that. You saw that my defenses were down and you attacked like the snake you are. I stuck my neck out for you and gave away so much for you, to make whatever we have work, and you just threw it in the dust. What, it wasn't enough for you to turn my whole world upside down and ruin my relationships with my friends in the process? You just _had_ to go kiss the mudblood, didn't you? _Didn't you? _What kind of game are you playing at here?"

"Nothing about our situation is a game," he deadpanned. "And don't call yourself that."

His icy glare nearly broke her once again and her chin began to shake.

"You used to," she argued.

"I don't anymore," he growled. "And you shouldn't either."

She tore away from him, praying he wouldn't notice the effect he was having on her.

"Why did you do it?" she whispered softly, mostly to herself.

"I really don't know."

She spun on him, her hair whipping in the chaos of winter snow.

"You don't _know_?" she snarled viscously. "You kissed me and you claim you don't _know_? That wasn't just some ordinary peck on the lips, Draco! It wasn't some tentative, unsure smooch. How could you _not know_? _You _made the decision to close the distance between us and _you_ were the one to walk away, as if it were _my_ fault."

His eyes widened, staring at her outburst.

"Hermione, please," he sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt you or offend you. It was just a stupid lapse in judgement. I just got caught up in the moment."

She blinked in disbelief.

_Hurt. Offend. _Like he'd done to everyone her entire life.

_Stupid. Lapse of judgement. _As if he would never dream of _really_ kissing her, because she was too lowly in status for him. As if he hadn't changed at all.

She had to admit that stung.

_Caught up in the moment._ As if it were the Yule Ball all over again and she'd kissed Viktor simply because she'd gotten "caught up in the moment" in the romantic atmosphere after Ron had basically refused to admit his feelings for her.

"I can't believe I let you - " The large lump in her throat would not allow her to go on.

_Let you convince me you had changed. _

_Let you in._

_Let you close._

_Let you gain my trust._

_Let you kiss me._

_Let you have so much power over me._

_"Why?_" she demanded. "Why would you ruin what we had?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"We had a perfectly platonic friendship. It was working for us, which was such an impossible feat as it was!"

He stared at her, just as the scarlet train ahead of them gave a deafening screech, alerting the students of its nearing departure.

"What?" she insisted. "Nothing to say? You hounded me down for _days_ for this? Thank you for wasting my time."

"Why are you being like this?" he snapped, grabbing her arm as she turned to leave. "Why are you getting so upset. We both agree it shouldn't have happened and we weren't really thinking! Don't go turning this all on me, Granger. I wasn't the only one in that tower that night."

She shoved him off her.

"So, it's back to Granger, then."

He opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off.

"Since you regret it so much, how about we just pretend it did't happen," she suggested dryly, her voice cracking.

"But it did happen. Pretending that night didn't exist won't make it go away."

"Draco, please. It would make both of our lives easier if we just pretended nothing happened."

"Fine," Draco said darkly. "As you wish."

"I have to go," Hermione insisted, turning toward the train. "I'll send you a copy of the prefect meeting schedule after I'm drawing it up for the new year."

"Fine," he repeated. "Happy holidays."

When she turned around to reply, Draco was gone.

Immediately, she felt awful.

Were they even friends anymore? Why did she have to get so irrationally emotional sometimes? She hadn't even thought to get him anything for Christmas, blinded by her humiliation.

Sighing, she boarded the train.

"Did something happen with you and Draco?" Pansy practically jumped on her, opening the compartment door.

It was snowing outside with terrible urgency now. Hermione hoisted her luggage onto the rack and plopped onto the seat across from Pansy. The rest of the compartment was empty.

"Excuse me?"

"I know you heard me," Pansy scoffed, not in the mood to play games. "You haven't exactly been discrete about avoiding him, you know."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Hermione lied, staring into the distance.

"You are a pathetic liar, you know that? I _saw_ you bickering outside like an old married couple. "

"And you are horribly nosy."

"Touche," Pansy muttered. "Anyway, I don't know what happened between you, but this is getting old on both your parts. All I know is that Draco went to search for you after you bolted and then the pair of you disappeared for the rest of the evening and the next day weren't speaking to each other. So, I don't know what happened at the masquerade to make you stop talking to him and for him to bail on me, but perhaps this time you could spare us all the drama of your on-again off-again what_ever_ it is you have going on."

"Must you be so cynical?" Hermione griped. "Why are you in such a foul mood anyway?"

"I hate the holidays," she replied simply. "And I'm tired of all of this."

"Well, I'm sorry to rain on your ever morbid parade," Hermione snapped and Pansy raised her eyebrows in surprise.

They sat in silence for remainder of the trip, barely looking at each other. She had to wonder if everything she'd worked so hard on with the Slytherins was finally coming to an end.

Perhaps it had been too good to be true, after all.

Maybe Ginny had been right.

"Look, I'm not upset with you," Pansy said as they pulled up to Kings Cross station, the whistle howling. "It's really just the holidays. They're a sore spot for me and I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Hermione nodded. "For what it's worth, I hope you have a good holiday."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "That's sure to happen," she said sarcastically. "I'm spending it with Blaise and Draco."

"What do you mean?" Hermione inquired.

Did she not have a family to go home to?

"Draco, Narcissa, and I are spending our holidays with Blaise and his mother," she explained as they exited the train. "It's going to be very crowded, but I can't complain. They are my family, after all. Anyway, I'll see you when we get back."

Hermione watched her leave, unable to say anything in return. Why were Draco and his mother staying with the Zabini's? And why hadn't Pansy mentioned anything about his father?

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned around in the swarm, trying to place who had called out to her. It was then that she caught sight of Harry, waving madly a few paces away. Happily, she embraced him.

"I've missed you," she breathed into his chest. "I thought you had work? I wasn't expecting you to come get me."

He shook his head. "I got off early so I could come pick you up. Figured it was the least I could do since you were staying with me and all."

She laughed, but then her face darkened. "Have you seen Ginny, yet?"

"No, but you know how the Weasley's are," he said. "Molly was probably the first one here; they're probably already home eating lunch. I'll be seeing her later."

She nodded, sighing in relief.

"What's going on with the pair of you, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I'm sure you already know," Hermione assumed. "She's probably written you all about it."

"You know how she gets," he reasoned. "She'll come around once she's had some time to cool off."

"She's had plenty of time," Hermione said. "She hates me. She's never ignored me."

"I'll try to talk some sense into her," Harry promised and Hermione sighed. "Anyway, let's go get you settled, shall we?"

When they arrived at Grimmauld Place Number 12, Hermione drifted upstairs to Walburga Black's former bedroom, where she'd stayed the summer. Nothing had changed about the room and she shivered, remembering all the hellish nights she spent in that bedroom. Harry touched her shoulder, placing her luggage at the end of the bed.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," Hermione replied dryly. "I think I just need some time alone, if you don't mind."

Harry eyed her wearily before nodding, and she could tell he wasn't sure if he should leave her.

"It's fine," she reassured him. "I just need to write my parents."

"Sure," he conceded, leaving the door open a crack. "I'll just be downstairs if you need me."

When he had finally disappeared down the stairs, Hermione collapsed in the chair next to her desk, her fingers drifting over the half-moon shaped marks her fingernails had dented into the aging wood only a few months ago in one of her fits.

Shaking her head to rid the negative energy threatening to overtake her, Hermione conjured up a piece of parchment and some ink.

_Mum and Dad,_

_Just wanted to let you know I made it to Harry's safe. I'm staying in the area for a little while so I can see everyone and catch up, but I'll be home for Christmas. I'll probably leave Harry's sometime on Christmas Eve so you'll have plenty of time with me before I go back to school. I can't wait to see you! _

_All my love,_

_Hermione_

Setting the quill down, she folded up the letter and tapped her wand on the parchment, watching as it disappeared, on its way to her parent's house in Whitby. She sighed, watching the snow circle and dance around the window frame.

Suddenly, a dark owl appeared, perching expectantly on her windowsill. Curious, she opened the window, gasping as the owl swooped inside, carrying flurries of wind with it, and perched on her bed frame. Tied to its leg was a rather large manilla envelope. On closer inspection she noticed that it was addressed to her, with no return address. Figuring it was just another Christmas present, she stuffed it in the jacket of her coat for later and sent the owl on its way, snapping her window shut before heading downstairs.

"I'm sorry I haven't written all that much," Harry apologized as she entered the kitchen, heading to the cupboard where he extracted a box of spearmint teabags. "Things have been busier than I'd like them to be at the Ministry."

They small-talked for quite some time over tea and sandwiches until she found she could not go on with discussing politics and the weather and how well her Advanced Transfiguration class was going. She wanted so badly to tell Harry about the threatening notes, about the packages and her secret admirer, about Draco and the kiss. About how hurt she really was that he hadn't made time to write her more than five times within her absence and the fact that Ron hadn't sent one blasted little letter to her.

And about how alone she felt, more than ever, now that Draco was gone.

She wondered vaguely if she could handle staying at Harry's until Christmas Eve.

If she could even handle the winter break at all.

* * *

><p>Despite her initial foreboding, Christmas Eve arrived surprisingly fast and cheerful. She awakened to Harry throwing colorful tissue paper at her, singing muggle Christmas songs at the top of his lungs as he threw open her dusty drapes and let the light in. Outside it was swirling white.<p>

Still a bit groggy, she followed Harry downstairs to help him get everything ready for their Christmas Eve dinner later that night.

"I can't believe you let me sleep in so late!" Hermione chastised, swatting her friend's arm, narrowly missing his mug of hot cocoa.

"You haven't looked that peaceful in quite some time," he explained softly, passing her a cup of cocoa. "I couldn't do it. But when eleven rolled around, I had to make sure you weren't dead."

"It's fine," she assured him, smiling for the first time in what seemed like ages. "You're making quite the spread here. Who all are we expecting?"

"Just a few mates from work and their guests."

"I'm guessing Ginny will be joining us," Hermione said, noticing how clean everything looked and how detailed he was being with his cooking.

"Yes," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I know you two aren't really in the best of terms right now, but - "

"I get it," Hermione interrupted. "You don't have to make excuses for who you want to bring over to your home on Christmas Eve, Harry. She's your girlfriend, after all. I won't be staying that long anyway; I've got to go see my parents."

_After all, _I'm_ not the one who has the problem,_ she added in her head.

They spent the majority of the day preparing the extravagant meal until one by one, the guests began to arrive. Despite herself, Hermione found herself shrinking farther and farther into the background. Harry tried to include her as much as he could, introducing her to several of the men and women he worked with and their guests.

Nameless faces. That's all they were to her.

And then Ginny arrived and their eyes locked only momentarily before Hermione was given the cold shoulder the rest of the time. The crowd of merry visitors visited excitedly around the table, but Hermione simply stared at her plate.

"Sorry I'm late," came a voice from behind her. "The door was open, hope you don't mind I just let myself in."

Hermione froze, her fingers tightening around her fork. Despite how hard Ginny had been trying to ignore her, suddenly her eyes were upon her, wide and concerned - no that couldn't be it. Everyone turned in their seats and Hermione looked up just as the man sitting next to her said, "Ah, Ron, glad you could make it, mate! We were wondering if you were going to show up!"

"Oh, look, he's not alone," piped up another man down the table. "Guess his little love bird wasn't imagined after all."

Losing her grip on everything, Hermione's fork clattered onto her plate.

The atmosphere suddenly morphed as a very pretty woman entered the room, coming to stand beside Ron. She was about Hermione's height with healthy peaches and cream skin, rosy lips, warm maple eyes, and long satiny angel blond hair. She wore a white lace fitted sweater dress, pastel blue tights, and a soft blue scarf - looking practically like an angel.

The woman then wrapped a long arm around Ron's waist. A strange pang erupted inside Hermione's chest. She knew she should look away, but her eyes stayed fixed on the foreign girl with her arm around her former boyfriend.

"Everyone, this is Mer—" Ron started to say, but then his eyes caught Hermione's and he seemed to have a quiet spasm before he could continue. "Meredith…"

There was a smattering of greetings and faint smiles. And then Harry conjured Meredith a seat and she and Ron took their seats at the table, avoiding her eyes. Hermione shifted away as Ron introduced Meredith as the "love of his life" to the table, not believing how stupid she thought she could be thinking Harry wouldn't invite his best friend.

Her name was Meredith Canterburry, born and raised in a modest half-blood family in Wales. She moved to London and met Ron during their training class with the Auror Training Program at the Ministry. Only a few days after Hermione returned to Hogwarts.

Apparently she showed "great promise" and was "incredibly talented", like nothing he'd "seen before". _  
><em>

"We're very happy," Meredith said, smiling widely and leaning her head of blond curls on his arm. "I'm really the luckiest girl in the world."

Of course they were happy. Maybe that's exactly what Ron needed—someone to dote on him and make him feel special in the way Hermione never quite could.

After dessert, Hermione stood up, pointedly looking at Ginny - who looked up at her apologetically, even though they weren't speaking to each other - and took her dishes to the sink. Moments later, Meredith approached the sink.

"Hi," she greeted timidly, extending her hand. "You're Hermione, aren't you? Hermione Grunger."

Hermione swallowed, staring down at the girl's tiny hand in fascination.

"Granger," she corrected. "How do you know that?"

"Ron's told me about all of his little friends," she said, lowering her hand when Hermione failed to take it.

"I'm really quite surprised he mentioned me at all," Hermione said briskly, scrubbing her plate viciously. "He's certainly never mentioned you."

She seemed taken aback by Hermione's snappish tone, but ignored it, ever the peacemaker it seemed. "Ron and I both agreed not to tell anyone outside of immediate friends and family. Once it started getting more serious, though, it seemed like the right time."

"You've only been dating for a few months," Hermione reminded her, drying off her plate and smacking it against the granite counter. "How serious could you possibly be?"

"Why, I'm surprised you haven't heard," Meredith laughed, staring at her in amazement. "It's sure to be all over the _Daily Prophet_ by now."

"What is, exactly?" Hermione asked, growing tired of their prattle.

She noticed Ginny squinting at them from the table, as if trying to read their lips.

"Our engagement, of course," Meredith said, flashing her left hand in Hermione's face, where a fairly decent sized 2.1 carat diamond sat on a rose gold band on her little ring finger.

"You...what?" Hermione sputtered, suddenly out of breath.

"Ron proposed to me last night," Meredith informed her happily.

Suddenly, the room had grown incredibly quiet.

"_What?_" screeched Ginny and her chair clattered to the ground as she stood. She rounded on Ron angrily. "You're _engaged_?"

"Oops," Meredith mumbled.

"You didn't even tell me you were serious with this woman, and suddenly you're engaged?" screamed Ginny. "I barely found out about her three weeks ago!"

"Gin, please, you're making a scene," Harry pleaded, noticing how Meredith had lost her smile and Ron looked practically green.

"Get _off_ me," snarled Ginny. "You're my _brother_ and you didn't even _tell_ me. What the hell? This is the first time I'm even meeting the girl and I find out you're going to _marry_ her? Don't you think that's a little _fast?_"

"Ginny, shut up," ground out Ron. "Harry's right. You're making a scene. Stop being so dramatic. You would have found out by the end of the night eventually. Mind your manners."

"And _you_!" Ginny exclaimed, turning on Harry. "You knew, didn't you? And you didn't tell me. All this time?"

"He asked me not to, Ginny," Harry explained desperately.

Suddenly, their voices were far away, a cry in the distance.

"Where's Hermione?"

Good question.

She gazed around her, noticing that she had somehow ended up in Walburga's room without realizing it. She looked down numbly at her fingers, noticing how her nails were scraping against the aging wood, splinters slicing up through her cuticles.

It was hard to breathe.

When had she started crying?

"This is a dream, right?" she croaked. "A nightmare?"

There was a sigh from behind her, at the doorway.

"No."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"How—How _could_ you?"

Was that her shaking?

"Please don't do this. Don't make this harder than it has to be, Hermione."

How was _she _making this hard? _  
><em>

"What is _wrong_ with you?" she whispered, turning to face him. "Do I really mean that little to you?"

He raked a freckled hand through his dark red hair, sighing. He'd gotten taller, if that was possible. His freckles were in all the same spots, his skin looking healthier and rosier. He had laugh lines now.

"Hermione—"

The dam finally caved, splintering her chest. Her nail cracked right down the middle. She hardly flinched.

"No!" she shrieked. "You're engaged? To _her?_ How do you even see yourself with her?"

_She's too good for you,_ she thought bitterly. _And you're supposed to—_

What?

Be in love with her still?

She'd burned that bridge a long time ago, she knew that.

But she hadn't imagined he would move on so fast.

"What?" Ron scoffed. "Don't tell me you're _jealous_. You broke up with _me_, remember?"

"How could I forget?" she snapped.

"What, did you just expect me to hang around, waiting for you to graduate Hogwarts? Wait for you to stop being so crazy?"

_Crazy?_

"I have a life now, Hermione," Ron continued fiercely. "I've made a name for myself and a damn good one for that matter. Not that you would care—all you care about it yourself."

"Shut up!" Hermione screamed, throwing the chair at the wall. "How _dare_ you! How dare you come in here and attack me like this after everything you have done. You haven't written to me _once_ since I left, Ronald. You haven't responded to _any_ of my letters. You don't know _anything_ about what's been going on with me. You have no idea because you couldn't even spare five minutes to pick up a damn quill and write me."

She felt like he'd punctured her lung with a sharpened brick.

"It's just been hard."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Don't be like that."

"Be like what, Ronald? You didn't even have the decency to tell me you were _seeing_ someone? That you're _in love?_ That you're engaged? You haven't even told her that we dated! That we were best friends!"

"Stay out of my business with Meredith. And as for you, how would you have wanted me to tell you that, exactly? 'Hey, sorry I haven't written in so long. Hope the weather's decent. Oh, by the way, I'm getting married.'"

"I thought we were _friends_," Hermione whispered brokenly. "After everything we've been through, I never thought it would be so easy for you to just throw the last eight years away like they never existed."

He didn't move to protest and that hurt Hermione more than anything she'd experienced. "Wow. So that's what this has come down to. I go through the worst experience of my life and not only do you blame me for our relationship falling to pieces, but you've carried that anger with you all this time, so much so that you would throw away our friendship. How on earth have you come to hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you, Hermione," Ron sighed. "But this hasn't been easy for me."

_What about ME_? she wanted to scream.

"Right," Hermione said, nodding. "Of course not. I understand. I'm just sorry it had to end this way."

With a snap of her wand, her trunk was packed and levitating down the stairs. Before she descended the stairs, she turned to him one last time, tears streaming down her face, hating how much weakness she was showing him.

"I'm glad you're happy. Truly, I am," she said hoarsely. "For what it's worth, she seems nice...good for you, patient. I sincerely wish you both the best."

"Goodbye, Hermione," he said.

Somehow, she wished he would stop her, ask her how she was doing, talk to her about his big promotion, even about Meredith. But he didn't call after her as she hurried down the creaky stairs.

"I don't even know what to do," Ginny said quietly to Harry, watching her closely. "Would she even speak to me? I feel awful."

"Hermione, wait," Harry called, but Hermione turned around and glared at him, quieting him instantly.

"I want nothing to do with any of you anymore. You don't want to include me in your lives, so be it. You'll have your wish. I'm betting I'll be gone for good soon enough."

Hermione wrenched open the front door and slammed it shut behind her, barely managing to throw her coat on before apparating to her parent's simple seaside cottage. It wasn't snowing in Whitby, but it was still bitterly cold. Sniffling, she started up the walkway, trying to gather herself before she knocked on the front door.

Utterly freezing, she jammed her hands into the pockets of her coat. Caught off guard at the lack of space in her coat, Hermione checked her left pocket, taking out a manilla envelope. The one the mysterious owl had deposited in Walburga Black's room on her arrival at Harry's place.

Overcome with a sense of dread, she opened the envelope, shaking loose the contents within it. Several items clattered to the ground and she knelt to pick them up.

Her hands shook as she picked up a thorned rose. Even in the darkness of the winter night, it wasn't hard to tell what color the rose was—black. As if the flower had burned her, she released it quickly, noticing the other objects.

A rolled up morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ with Ron Weasley's engagement circled.

And a note.

In slanted, horrifyingly familiar scarlet ink, her admirer had scrawled a message. But this time it was different. Darker.

* * *

><p><em>My Dearest,<em>

_You'll never escape me, no matter where you go. I shall always find you._

_Soon, you'll lose everything and everyone, i__ncluding yourself, t__o me._

_"Thy soul shall find itself **alone**_

_'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;_

_Not one, of all the crowd, to pry_

_Into thine hour of secrecy." _

_—Me_


	24. Apart

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Things are starting to catch speed now! I know, I _know_ the last chapter was a lot to handle-lots of drama, lots of feels, lots of angst. But believe me, it was necessary. How are we liking it to so far? Anyone? Please review!

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Three<em>

_Apart_

* * *

><p><em><em>Keep it to yourself<br>If you think that you still love me  
>Put it on a shelf<br>If you're looking for someone  
>Make it someone else<br>When you're drunk  
>And it's late<br>And you're missing me like hell  
>Keep it to yourself<br>__

__"Keep It To Yourself"_—Kacey Musgraves___

* * *

><p>"What do you think?"<p>

Draco paused, his fist freezing just a hair from the wide oak door. The door stood ajar, allowing Draco to see into the dimly lit guest chambers his mother had been staying in since he'd arrived at the Zabini mansion. Inside, Pansy and his mother sat knee to knee, facing each other in front of the vanity. Narcissa opened a thin richly colored purple velvet box. Something nestled between the velvet cushions glimmered in the candlelight, but Draco was unable to see what it was since it was positioned away from him.

"It's beautiful," Pansy gasped, reaching out to touch it.

Narcissa snapped the box shut before she could, nearly clipping Pansy's fingers in the process.

"It's not the most traditional gift to give your son on Christmas," said Narcissa. "But heirlooms seem to be the only thing left to give lately. Which reminds me - "

Narcissa trailed off, searching through one of her bags. From its depths she plucked something shiny and bright.

"If Lucius found out I was doing this, he would surely kill me, but I have no use for it anymore and we've too many of these heirlooms," she explained, placing the objects in Pansy's hands. "You may not be blood, but you have always been like a daughter to me and a sister to Draco, a dear friend to us all. I know I can't fill the void you have and I can't give to you what your mother could, but I hope this shows you how much you mean to our family. Happy Christmas, Pansy."

Pansy cleared her throat and Draco knew she was trying not to cry by the way her nose pinched upward.

"You were more of a mother to me than she could ever be. They're beautiful," she whispered, clasping on a pair of dangly diamond earrings and quickly embracing her. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"I think it's about high time you start calling me by my first name, dear," said Narcissa, patting Pansy's hand.

Draco raised his fist once again to knock, but again he was interrupted by their conversation.

"Speaking of Mr. Malfoy, why isn't he here?" wondered Pansy bluntly. "What is going on with you two?"

"That's none of your concern," clipped Narcissa briskly.

"How can you say the things you said to me just now and then tell me it's none of my concern?" demanded Pansy. "Draco is my concern and so are you, therefore I deserve to know."

Narcissa was quiet for some time.

"He's gone away for a while," she finally said.

"On Christmas? Shouldn't he be with his son? His wife?"

Narcissa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Things haven't been that steady at home since Draco left," Narcissa explained evenly. "He's ill."

"No, he's emotionally scarred," corrected Pansy. "Don't flower it up, _Narcissa_; I know what happened after you were pardoned. It is what it is. He went through hell that summer and never recovered."

"Is it awful that I still don't fully know what exactly happened to him back then?" Draco's mother sighed. "He's still so closed down about the whole thing. I try as hard as I can, but I don't know how to help him."

"And shutting himself away from his family and the only support group he has is going to help him how?" Pansy scoffed. "Sometimes he amazes me."

"The important thing to remember is he will get better in time," his mother said, almost like a mantra. "When you love someone, you are willing to give up everything and do anything to help them. And if Lucius needs time away, that's what I will give him."

_Creak_.

Draco cringed, glaring at the wooden floorboard underneath his foot.

"Who's there?"

"Only me, Mother," replied Draco, entering the bedroom with a smile plastered to his face. "What are you two gossipers up to?"

"Just exchanging gifts, my darling," Narcissa answered lightly, sharing a worried glance with Pansy. "And speaking of gifts, I have yours."

"Mother, you know I don't - "

"Stop fussing and just take it," Narcissa clipped, handing him the thin purple box he'd seen earlier. "There's a note I've written you taped to the bottom of the box. I would like you to read it before you put this to use."

Draco furrowed his brow and nodded, sliding the box into his robes to examine later. Narcissa smiled sadly at her son, cupping his cheek with her soft palm.

"My boy," she sighed. "You've grown up so much while you've been away."

Suddenly, before Draco had the chance to confront his mother about what he'd heard earlier, an insistent rapping noise came from the window in the corner of the room.

"I'll get it," Pansy said, hurrying to open the window.

A dark barn owl swooped inside, shaking flurries of snow onto the pale pink carpet.

"It's addressed to you," Pansy informed him, bringing over a medium sized package dressed in blue wrapping paper.

Curious, he ripped off the card addressed to him and opened it.

* * *

><p><em>Draco,<em>

_I understand this letter must come as a shock to you,_

_considering we are not technically on pleasant speaking terms,_

_ but as it is Christmas I figured we could both use a little uplifting_

_Christmas spirit. Have a good holiday__. _

_Hermione_

_P.S. - Enclosed are the new prefect meeting schedules I've drawn up._

_Please review them and let me know if anything else needs to be_

_added or revised._

* * *

><p>Carefully, he tore away the bright blue wrapping. A thin smirk crawled its way up his lips despite himself.<p>

"_Pride & Prejudice_?" laughed Pansy, snooping over his shoulder. "Draco Malfoy, read _Muggle_ literature? Someone's got a sense of humor."

"I must agree; what a strange gift. Who sent it to you, darling?" asked Narcissa.

Draco quickly crumpled up the card and shoved it deep in his pockets. He held up the prefect meeting sheets.

"Granger," Draco replied stiffly.

Pansy quirked an eyebrow.

"I thought you two weren't - "

"She just had to send me some Head material," he continued, cutting her off and glancing at Narcissa who was staring intently at the novel in his hands. "We've - er - started a book club at Hogwarts and this is what she suggested we read next."

Narcissa seemed to eat the lie easily but Pansy stared at him suspiciously.

"Really," she said. "I didn't know Hogwarts had a book club."

"Well, we do," he replied edgily, mentally slapping himself. He'd have to propose the idea to Hermione when - if - she started talking to him again. "You're welcome to join."

"And read old fashioned flowery romance novels?" Pansy scoffed. "Please. Now, maybe if you read a couple mysteries or autobiographies."

_Smash._

"Narcissa, I need you!" Nicola Zabini - Blaise's mother - cried desperately from downstairs.

"That's my cue," Narcissa said with a smirk. "I'm afraid I've left her alone for much too long. At this rate, she'll burn the entire place down."

There was a clatter of china from downstairs and a frustrated screech quickly followed.

"Pansy!"

"What does she want with _me_?" whined Pansy. "Please don't make me come down there. I swear if I have to conjure one more blasted peony, I'll jump from a broomstick."

"You signed up for this, too, little miss," Narcissa reminded the indigo eyed beauty.

"Tell her I've got cramps or something," begged Pansy and Narcissa shook her head, rolling her eyes and grabbing Pansy's arm.

"If I have to go through with this, so do you," she said simply and then turned toward Draco with a teasing smirk. "Unless, of course, Draco volunteers to take your place."

Draco's jaw dropped a fraction in repulse. How could she be thinking about Nicola Zabini's ninth wedding to yet another wealthy pureblood when her very own marriage was falling apart.

"I'm going to find Blaise," he stated in return before Pansy could sway him with her puppy dog eyes, turning swiftly on his heel and exiting his mother's temporary - or were they permanent? - chambers.

* * *

><p>"Are you going to talk or are you just going to sit there?"<p>

Draco released a heavy sigh from where he sat comfortably in one of the armchairs in Blaise's sitting room. Cleopatra, Draco's cat, purred imperiously on his lap, demanding his touch.

"Communication goes both ways, you know," Draco replied.

"Sure, but you're the one who barged into my quiet evening of Christmas sulking and avoiding Mum," Blaise reminded him, turning to face him from where he stood at his mini-bar. He handed Draco a crystal goblet of fire whiskey before sliding gracefully into his own armchair closest to the fireplace.

"Cat got your tongue?" Blaise teased, gesturing to Draco's possessive feline.

Draco glared at him.

"Okay, so it's the guessing game then," Blaise chuckled, rolling his eyes at him. "Daddy issues? Mummy issues? Kitty issues?"

Draco took a hefty swig from his goblet, enjoying the way the amber liquid seared his throat.

"Or perhaps something a bit darker," Blaise continued, growing more serious. "Nightmares?"

Draco shrugged. "No more than usual."

Blaise squinted at him.

"Well, then it must be Granger," Blaise simplified.

"Granger?"

The sound that escaped Draco's throat was rough and raspy.

"Yeah, you know, cute, witty, about yea tall?"

"Get off it," Draco snapped. "I don't want to talk about her. Just shut up."

Blaise blinked in surprised.

"Shit, man," he said. "It must be serious."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're really upset. What's going on with Granger?" Blaise pressed, sitting forward.

"Nothing is going on with her," Draco grumbled. "Just drop it, please."

"_You_ came to _me_," Blaise reminded him. "She knows, doesn't she?"

Draco nearly dropped his glass. Cleopatra hissed on his lap.

"Your meaning?" he croaked.

"She knows how you feel about her," he guessed. "At least that's my guess. _Something_ happened with her otherwise you wouldn't be putting up such a fight about talking about her."

"Why do you have to be so damn perceptive?"

"So, does she feel the same?" Blaise asked.

"I don't know," Draco replied in frustration. "That's not even it. God, I don't even know anything anymore. She's so bloody confusing."

He got to his feet, ripping his thin fingers through his hair. Feeling betrayed by his abrupt departure from her, Cleopatra pranced off to sit by the fireplace.

"Come on, you have to know something. I know something happened so what?" Blaise insisted.

Draco looked at his feet. "I kissed her."

"Excuse me?" Blaise blurted, practically falling from his seat. "When? What?"

"The masquerade ball," he grumbled darkly. "Pansy and I saw her just standing there in the middle of the ballroom looking as if she were going to faint. Then she just tore off like she couldn't wait to escape her own skin. Something was very wrong and I didn't know if she'd been threatened or something so I followed her."

Blaise waved his hand to continue, eager for details.

"We got to talking about some heavy stuff - we've both been going through a lot lately and I just… I just kissed her."

"_And?_ What did she do?" Blaise prodded, impatient. "What did she say? What did _you_ do? Did she kiss you back?"

"I didn't really give her much choice," Draco admitted, looking away.

"Well, did she push you off? Slap you?" Blaise asked, looking narrowly at him.

"No."

"But now she wishes she had, I bet," Draco sighed, plopping back into his seat, defeated. "After we kissed, I kind of just left..."

"What do you mean?"

Draco sighed and then dove into his tale about what happened that night, every single detail.

"She started avoiding me after that, mad at me because of the kiss, and so I finally cornered her at Hogsmeade and made her talk to me," he continued.  
>"I told her it hadn't meant anything but she just got more angry and told me to just pretend it hadn't happened."<p>

"You're so daft, you bumbling idiot!" Blaise exclaimed. "Do you know nothing about women at all?"

"Hermione is not really what you would call your typical easy to read woman, Blaise," growled Draco.

"The last thing she wanted to hear was that what you did was a mistake," Blaise explained. "You already humiliated her by just walking off like that, but then you tell her it was a mistake and it hadn't meant anything? Coming from you that's really lousy, especially because it _did_ mean something. Merlin, you are such an arse. Why didn't you just tell her the truth?"

"She said it herself, I ruined a perfectly platonic relationship," Draco said. "She doesn't want anything further and even if she did, there can't be anything between us."

"Why?" his best friend demanded. "Because you are Draco Malfoy and she's Hermione Granger? Because she's a Gryffindor and you are a Slytherin? Because she's muggle-born and you're pureblood?"

"You know that stuff doesn't matter to me anymore and it never mattered to her," he snapped.

"She's scared, Draco," Blaise explained. "You two have had to grow very close to one another in a very short amount of time because of that ring. You both knew it would be hard, but somehow she's let you in at least a little. She trusts you with her life - that's something, isn't it? She called you her friend. I'm sure she, like you, has been confused by the intensity of it all and was rather startled and maybe a bit frightened when you kissed her. She's probably just as lost as you on what to feel."

"The difference between you and her and how you react to being afraid is she shuts down and you become an arse. Well, a bigger arse than you already are," Blaise said, smirking.

"What do I do?" Draco demanded.

"I don't know her as well as you do, so I can't really answer that for you," Blaise responded, shrugging. "You need to talk to her about what happened, be honest with her, and expose yourself."

"No," snarled Draco.

"Why? You think she's going to do it first?" Blaise laughed. "You have to _earn_ her trust back. Whether she fancies you or not isn't the issue here - it's keeping her safe. If you weren't prepared to tell her how you felt, why did you kiss her in the first place?"

"I don't know why I did it, okay?" he shouted in frustration. "It just happened. I just - "

"Needed to know if you felt anything," Blaise finished for him.

Draco nodded.

"And did you feel anything?" the suave Italian wondered.

"Yes," Draco admitted. "There's something between us - some kind of connection that this damn ring created. It's making things much more complicated and harder than - "

"It isn't that ring that's making things difficult," Blaise assured him. "It's you and her. Both of you are too afraid and stubborn to face the reality of things. You are falling in love with that woman, Draco, whether you want to admit it or not. You care about her more than your own skin. That connection you felt wasn't because of that ring, Draco. The ring is there to guide you and warn you; it can't have power over your feelings."

When Draco didn't respond, Blaise rolled his eyes. "You're just going to have to talk to her."

"And what exactly do you propose I _say_?" Draco asked heatedly.

"The truth would be a good starting place. Tell her that things between you and her have gotten more complicated than you had planned originally, that you have feelings for her that you aren't sure of how to move forward with, and you didn't mean to surprise her or scare her that night. Explain to her that you understand that what you did was unexpected and that probably moved too fast and went about things in the wrong way. Just _talk_ to her," Blaise pressed him. "It sounds as if she is just as confused as you are."

Draco sighed. As if it was that easy. He had her life in his hands to think about. He couldn't allow his feelings to get in the way of keeping her safe.

"I just hope she'll speak to me again," Draco mumbled.

"She has to at some point," Blaise pointed out, lifting a bottle of firewhiskey. "Now, lets pour us some more of this liquid therapy so that _you_ can now listen to _my_ problems about my whorish bint of a mother and her piggish ninth husband to be."

Draco groaned and held out his glass.

"In that case, you'd better give me the entire bottle."


	25. Secret

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** So, this story is starting to get a bit intense, don't you think? Now we are back at Hogwarts - what will come now, you wonder? Find out below, lovelies.

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Four<em>

_Secret_

* * *

><p><em><em>I never meant to start a war<br>I just wanted you to let me in  
>And instead of using force<br>I guess I should've let you win__

__I came in like a wrecking ball  
>I never hit so hard in love<br>All I wanted was to break your walls  
>All you ever did was wreck me<em>_

__"Wrecking Ball"_—Miley Cyrus___

* * *

><p>"I've been meaning to ask you how your holiday was?"<p>

Neville blinked at her over their cauldron. He stared at her for several long, agonizing moments before he gave a simple shrug.

"That good?" Hermione said quietly, attempting to joke with him.

She shuffled her feet as he continued to stare at her in silence.

"I'm sorry, are we talking again?"

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

"Hermione, you haven't said one word to me or acknowledged my existence since you and Ginny had a row," Neville continued. "And even then, you've been off in your own little world the entire time. You realize the last conversation we had that didn't involve the weather or something school related was back around Halloween when you got that awful note?"

She felt like he'd punched her in the stomach.

"I've been—"

"I swear if you tell me one more time that you've been busy, I'll demand a new partner," Neville threatened fiercely. "You're just _now_ asking me how my holiday was? Hermione, it's _February__.__"_

_I know the bloody month!_ Hermione wanted to scream.

"You know, Neville, I _have_ been busy," Hermione snapped. "I'm terribly sorry that my conversations aren't up to your standard of entertainment anymore. And you know, if you had _such_ a problem, you could have _come _to me about it. You haven't approached me about anything either. Friendship is a two-way street, Neville, and I'm sorry if I haven't given our friendship justice, but I'm not the only one in this thing."

He shifted away from her, emptying a pile of crushed wormwood into the cauldron.

"Ginny told me you'd say something like that," he muttered.

At first she was angry. Ginny had no right to talk about her like that behind her back and sabotage her friendships with others. But there was something about the way Neville said it that made her feel instantly guilty for reacting in anger. After all, Ginny probably wasn't sabotaging anything. In fact, Ginny had tried to speak to her after the holidays, but Hermione didn't want anything to do with her, Harry, or Ron anymore.

It was Hermione's fault and she knew it, but pride was a hard demon to release.

She bowed her head.

"I'm sorry, Neville," she apologized sincerely. "I've been going through a lot lately and I guess I haven't been the best friend."

He shrugged again. Not knowing what to say, they both resumed their potion making in silence. Across the classroom Hermione watched as Theodore Nott, pretending he'd dropped his pencil by her desk, stole a kiss from Astoria Greengrass. She blushed as if this one small piece of affection meant the entire world to her. Next to her, Draco Malfoy watched them, frowning.

And suddenly, despite how much they'd been trying for the past month to ignore the fact that they shared the same air, Draco's eyes found their way to hers.

It was all of five seconds, but the moment seemed to go on for ages.

An emotion she'd only witnessed nestled deep inside his quicksilver eyes twice flashed across his eyes in that moment. His knuckles went white on the edge of his cauldron and his breath seemed to strangle out of his chest like he was in pain.

And then it was gone.

He diverted his gaze, turned a fraction until his back was to her once more, and continued mixing ingredients with Astoria like nothing had happened.

Across the room, Hermione tried not to hyperventilate.

"Are you okay?"

Neville shook her out of her trampled thoughts.

"I'm fine," she croaked, trying to calm her trembling hands as she dumped a bottle of dragon's blood into their cauldron. "Just got a little distracted."

"To answer your earlier question, if you call spending your Christmas at St. Mungo's 'good', then yes, my holiday was _good_," Neville told her, trying to improve their conversation.

"How are your parents doing?" she asked, though she knew the answer.

"Same as always," Neville replied hollowly. "On a good note, though, Hannah's family invited me over for New Years' Eve dinner."

Hermione smiled. "How is Hannah doing?"

"Very good. She's hoping to get into a program at St. Mungo's after we graduate."

"Really?" Hermione questioned. "Is she interested in becoming a Healer?"

"Very much so," Neville said excitedly. "I think she'll make a terrific one, don't you? She's always so compassionate and—"

As Neville continued to prattle on about his girlfriend, Hermione was distracted once again. The door to the potions classroom creaked open slowly, turning the heads of several students and Professor Slughorn.

"Miss Vane?" Professor Slughorn greeted uncertainly, noting the wide-eyed, panicked look on the young girl's unusually pale face. "Glad to see you could make it. I trust you are well?"

Romilda answered with a nervous jerk of her head. Up, down. She sank into her seat in front of Hermione and Neville.

"Where have you been?" hissed Gina, Romilda's loose-tongued friend. "Class ends in three minutes."

"I—" she started, peeking from under her disheveled long tresses to glance at Hermione and Neville. She sunk her teeth into her ragged fingernail, which seemed to have already been bitten down to the cuticle. "I'm just not feeling that well."

_Obviously, if she's letting her nails get in that bad a shape, _Hermione thought wickedly.

"You seemed fine at breakfast," Gina continued obliviously. "What did Pieter want?"

Romilda's breathing seemed to speed up at the mention of Pieter Kartick's name and she glanced at Hermione once again.

"Gina, _drop it_, okay? I'm fine and I don't want to talk about it."

"Time's up," Professor Slughorn called from the front of the class. "Please bring your vials to the front of the class."

While Neville put away the ingredients, Hermione approached Professor Slughorn's desk with lead feet. She could feel his presence behind her and suddenly he was everywhere.

Draco breathed deeply and slowly, through his nostrils, the way did when something was troubling him. He smelled like spearmint toothpaste and Irish Spring body wash. There was a faint hint of pine scented aftershave which meant he'd spent extra time getting ready this morning. As she deposited her vials on the desk and waited for Professor Slughorn to utter her grade, Hermione could hear him tapping his shoe on the stone of the classroom floor, which indicated that not only was he very impatient to get away, but he was also nervous. He was probably staring at the ceiling with his lips pursed, trying hard not to say something snide about how long she was taking.

As Hermione turned to retrieve her bag and tell Neville their grade, she glanced quickly at Draco. Sure enough, his eyes were glued to the ceiling, his lips cemented tightly together. She wondered what he was so nervous about.

"What's the verdict?" Neville questioned as the dismissal bell sounded and we filed out of the classroom.

"We got a perfect score," Hermione answered, patting him on the back.

He gave a surprised howl of pride and left Hermione happily, promising they would talk soon.

Defense seemed to drag on forever—they had a lecture today since they were starting a new unit. The entire time, both Ginny and Draco pretended she didn't exist, going out of their way to ignore her presence. Pansy kept to herself mostly, irritated with both Hermione's and Draco's behavior.

When Transfiguration arrived, Hermione was in a sour mood, growing more and more depressed. Blaise Zabini greeted her politely when he and Draco entered the classroom, as he'd taken a habit to doing, giving Draco a rough elbow to the side when Draco didn't do the same, immediately diving into a rather heated argument which lasted most of the period.

Moments after the class began, Professor Lavinia ordered the students to pair off for the rest of the period and practice the complicated spell they'd learned the previous week on each other. Hermione turned her attention to Neville hopefully, only to discover Ginny had already asked him to be her partner.

"Hi, Hermione. Do you want to partner up?"

Hermione swirled around in her seat, surprised to see Hannah Abbott timidly standing before her.

"Of course," Hermione replied hastily, gesturing for her to take the empty seat next to her.

In the far corner of the room, Neville and Ginny were already absorbed in happy conversation.

"Will you stop being so bloody proud and just _talk_ to her? You're grating on my nerves," Blaise suddenly roared.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini," Lavinia snapped, scowling. "Do I need to separate you? Please, be civilized. Less arguing, more transfiguring."

Draco grumbled something inaudibly and Hermione immediately knew they'd been discussing her.

"I know this isn't any of my business, but I was wondering if you two were doing okay?" Hannah asked several minutes later.

"Who, me and Ginny?" asked Hermione.

Hannah laughed anxiously, pulling on her collar, and shook her head. "No, sorry. I meant you and Draco. I was wondering if maybe you two had had some kind of lover's row."

"Beg pardon?" Hermione spluttered and Hannah's eyes widened.

"You mean you aren't an item?" she gasped, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Hermione was absolutely appalled, taken aback, completely flabbergasted, humiliated. A thousand emotions erupted inside her. She was a ticking time bomb, about to explode. The air was too thick around her.

She was suffocating.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, dear," Hannah sighed. "I'm so embarrassed. It's just the way you two look at each other...I could have sworn. Neville insisted you weren't interested in him that way, but lately we haven't been sure. I'm sorry, I misunderstood."

They didn't talk much after that. When the bell rang, Hermione bolted. Lunch did not seem appealing—all the prying, inquisitive eyes and gossiping ears. It didn't seem like a necessary requirement, so she spent it in the library, discussing Muggle literature with Madame Pince until it was time for Charms.

She was heading out of the library, half tempted by her melancholy to just ditch the last two periods and take a nap, when someone entered the library, slamming right into her.

Their heads collided, as neither of them were paying attention and staring straight at their shoes. Her nose stung, eyes watering by the sudden impact, and she flew backward. With the reflexes of a skilled Quidditch player, his hand whipped out and caught her by the waist before she could fully capsize. For several seconds he held her close to his lithe body, breathing heavily. The hand gripping his shirt felt the tremble of his stuttering heart.

His hands gripped her form hard, as if afraid she might disappear. For one instance, encouraged by the blazed look in his steely eyes, Hermione though he might kiss her. Then, Draco straightened up, practically pushing her away from him as if he'd been burned.

They were both too stunned by the encounter to voice anything. After all, they hadn't spoken or even looked at the other since their return to Hogwarts several weeks ago, much less come into physical contact with each other. They patrolled the castle separately now and they even used prefects to deliver messages to the other so that they could discuss Head matters without being in each other's presence. They'd also developed a set schedule every day so that they would not risk running into each other.

Had the library been crowded with onlookers, she would have worried others might seem suspicious by the way they reverently retreated from each other without so much as a word or a nod of the head, as if nothing had happened. When in fact, everything had happened. And apparently, everyone had noticed.

_Turn around_, Hermione thought pathetically. _Let me know you still care, that there's still _something_. Is everything gone?_

It seemed for one second that he would turn around, let the gate that guarded his emotions down, but with a strangled breath he continued down the narrow aisle toward Madame Pince, disappearing behind a bookshelf.

_You were the one that wanted to forget everything,_ a voice in her head reminded her. _You walked away. _

Feeling positively windswept, Hermione forced herself onward with heavy feet, through the library doors, and to class.

* * *

><p>Hermione figured halfway through her evening rounds that she should probably should have eaten dinner, considering she'd skipped lunch and had had nothing but a small fruit for breakfast to calm her queasy stomach.<p>

She'd been a jumble of nerves for the past month. For some reason, Hermione thought seeing him after the holidays would make things better. She'd been very wrong.

_What did you expect?_ the voice in her head taunted. _Did you really think he'd be touched by your last-dich Christmas gift and you two would be best chums again, like nothing happened?_

Apparently not.

The wind howled darkly outside the castle, a flurry of hail grating against the windows in the expansive corridor. It was a hollow, lonely sound, reminding her of Draco's departure from her life and his insistence that they take their rounds separately.

Memories flashed brightly in her mind of nights much like this, yet then she had not been traveling these halls by herself.

There had always been some kind of _sound_ when he was with her.

The fall of his heavy footsteps next to hers, always keeping pace with her.

The hum of his breath.

His snide remarks.

Even his silence had spoken volumes.

She walked on, alone. After several minutes, she found herself patrolling the fifth floor corridor. She stopped suddenly upon hearing distant voices. It sounded like it was coming from the music room, but it certainly wasn't the choir trying to get away with another late rehearsal.

They practiced on Wednesday evenings, not tonight. So, the question was, who was in the music room?

"Don't tell me you actually _enjoy_ doing this?"

Two voices, one female and one male. The female sounded strangely familiar.

"Pieter, this is dangerous," the girl insisted.

Through a crack in the door I could see a flicker of light, like someone had lit a lantern. Inside, huddled secretively by the frost-laced window of the music room were none other than Pieter Kartrick and Romilda Vane.

Romilda sat atop a desk, chewing on her black coated thumbnail. A few paces away, Pieter stared out the window, his arms crossed firmly across his chest.

He remained aloof as he spoke to her, his back to her.

"You don't have a clue what you are talking about."

"To be honest, I don't have a clue what we're doing anymore," Romilda confessed despondently. "But if all of this is affecting you like this and making you into this..."

"What? Making me into what?" challenged Pieter quietly. When Romilda paused, he growled. "Go on and say it, why don't you? What are you so afraid of?"

"You."

Pieter went rigid. Slowly, he turned to face her.

"Me?"

"Of what you've become," she clarified, backpedaling. "Or...what you're turning into, rather. I don't like it."

Pieter scoffed. "Yes, well, we can't all make everyone happy."

"Pieter, please, this is serious."

"Don't you think I know that?" he said lowly, pacing around a desk. "I, above anyone, knows how serious this is. Life or death."

"And forgive me, but I don't want it to come to that," Romilda snapped.

"Don't raise your voice with me," warned Pieter. "I won't tolerate your disrespectful, pessimistic attitude any longer."

"I don't want to lose you, Pieter."

He remained silent and his lack of response gave Romilda all she needed to hear. She'd already lost him.

"Well, then, if that's how it is going to be, I don't think want to be a part of this anymore."

_Whirling_ around, Pieter strode over to her, a murderous look in his dark, black eyes.

"You don't get to make that decision anymore," he snarled. "You gave that right up when you agreed to this_._"

He dug his fingernails into her left forearm, making her scream out in pain.

"Let _go_ of me."

Still, he did not release her.

"I did this for _you_. You said it was all just a _joke_ to mess with people's heads," she accused, tearing up. "Please, Pieter. Can't you just end it before it goes too far?"

He let out a dark, maniacal laugh.

"It won't," he says darkly. "It will never go _far enough_. And all of this will always be here—" He poked her roughly in the middle of her chest "—to remind you who you are, who you really work for, and what will happen to you should you disobey him."

"Him? _Him?"_ laughed Romilda hysterically. "Voldemort is _dead_! Harry Potter killed him!"

In a black rage, Pieter raised his fist and Romilda gave a frightened shriek, throwing her hands up. Hermione jolted forward, almost blowing her cover completely. Before she could interrupt them, Pieter lowered his fist and hissed out a strangled breath of air.

"How dare you speak his name," he whispered murderously. "He will _never_ be dead so long as there are people like us to fulfill his cause!"

"His _cause_? Pieter, the way you're talking, you make it sound like you're talking about _murder_."

Hermione blanched.

"Will you shut up?" Pieter hissed, casting a wild look about the classroom.

"You're sick, Pieter..." Romilda whimpered fearfully, sliding quietly off the desk and edging toward the door. "I think you need help...I think we should tell someone...It's not too late, Pieter. You don't have to do—"

"Shut your fucking mouth or I swear—"

"Or what? You'll hit me again?" Romilda cried, tears escaping down her blotchy cheeks. "You're _just_ like your aunt."

He grabbed her roughly by the elbows and Hermione's stomach rippled.

"Pieter, stop, you're hurting me!" she screamed.

"I told you that in confidence, you rotten little bitch, not so that you could use it against me," Pieter growled, shoving her brutally into the chalkboard. "I am _nothing_ like her and if you aren't_ careful_, you'll end up _just like her._"

"Don't threaten me!" Romilda barked, outraged.

She shoved him off her with a force Hermione had never pegged her to be capable of.

"You better keep your mouth shut about all of this. If I hear even one little peep out of you—"

"I won't say anything," she insisted, reaching to stroke his cheek. He recoiled from her touch. "You know me, Pieter. I would never do anything to put you in harm's way."

She reached out for him again.

"I love you," she admitted and to Hermione's horror she seemed very sincere about the fact.

"Stop."

He tugged away from her, but she held him fast.

"Won't you tell me you love me, too?" she pleaded desperately. "Like you did before all of this started getting out of hand?"

"My feelings for you will never change, Romilda."

He seemed to soften, allowing her to wrap her arms around his skinny frame.

"No matter what happens?"

"Not even if we were to die this very instant," he vowed.

Hermione choked. She could have cut the intensity in the room with a knife.

"You really believe that we would find each other again, even after death?"

"Death is only the beginning."

The tone in the room had become increasingly morbid, sending jagged-edged chills through Hermione's heart. It was like witnessing Romeo and Juliet taking on the roles of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, vowing their certain deaths be a black dagger to their equally black hearts should the blood on their hands run too dark for them to wash.

"Did you hear that?" hissed Pieter suddenly.

"Hear what?" asked Romilda, alarmed. "Do you think someone heard us?"

"Unlikely," he responded carefully, scanning the narrow stream of light pooling into the dark corridor. "We've been here many times; it's one of the most abandoned areas of the castle."

"We're out past curfew," Romilda reminded him. "Could be a prefect."

Suddenly, the lantern light extinguished and Hermione gasped. In mere moments she would be spotted and he would surely harm her, maybe even harm Romilda. She certainly couldn't frighten him away with point deduction.

Oh, how she wished she had Harry's invisibility cloak!

Making a last-ditch decision, Hermione threw herself into a nearby supply closet and listened closely. Seconds later, their footsteps disappeared down the corridor, leaving Hermione clutching her heart, wondering what on earth she'd just witnessed.


	26. Forbidden

**Disclaimer: **I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Okay, my lovelies. I'm on a roll! Things are about to get really intense, really fast. So, hang on to your seat belts and please review.

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Five<em>

_Forbidden_

* * *

><p><em>I take it all back, all that I said. <em>

_It comes out too fast._

_So, I just couldn't help the way that I felt. _

_I started the fire._

_Watching you walk, I followed you there,_

_ Standing too close_

_It's hurting._

_I pictured the words , t__he warmth of your breath. _

_I started the fire_

_It's burning._

__"Jealousy"_—Will Young___

* * *

><p>"You look rotten," Blaise noted, slipping into the seat next to him at dinner. "More so than usual, I mean."<p>

Draco shot him a glare. It was the night before Valentine's Day and the castle was abuzz with rumors, broken hearts, passionate kisses, lonely souls, and wishful hopes.

"What news do you have for me?" questioned Draco, choosing to ignore Blaise's comment.

"I'm doing great, thank you for asking," Blaise grumbled. "Maybe feeling a bit _used._"

"You offered to be my source of information in the rumor mill," Draco reminded him.

"I know, I'm simply giving you a hard time," Blaise said.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco asked. "Love bug bitten you too hard?"

"More like completely abandoned me," Blaise sighed. "I haven't heard anything from Jess since the ball."

"Bad luck, mate," Draco sympathized, patting him on a shoulder. "She was quite the catch."

"I know, but don't you think that's a little odd? I swear she's been avoiding me or something," Blaise continued. "Pansy thinks she transferred out of our classes. Blames it on my awful flirting."

Draco laughed. "Whatever, mate. Women suck."

"Says the man who is too frightened to speak to a certain fiery Gryffindor of the female persuasion."

"Sod off," Draco grumbled, pushing his plate of roast and potatoes away from him.

"Grumpy, aren't we?" Blaise teased. "Very well, onto another subject. On the top of the rumor mill, right under your supposed 'break up' with Hermione Granger, it has reached my ears that Romilda Vane tripped down the stairs and banged up her chin real bad, splitting open her lip this morning. Apparently, according to my sources, she spent the entire morning in the hospital wing."

"Explains why she wasn't in classes this morning, but why does this involve my attention?" Draco asked curiously, scanning the Great Hall and finding Romilda Vane staring at an empty dinner plate, isolated at a far corner of the table. "And where's her little boy toy?"

"Kartrick? No one's seen him."

"He decides to make himself scarce, just as his girlfriend shows up with a great big bruise around her jaw?"

"Why must you always jump to such dramatic conclusions, darling Draco?" gasped Blaise in fake outrage. "Perhaps he just doesn't like Valentine's Day."

"It's not Valentine's Day," pointed out Draco.

"It might as well be, with the way everyone in this bloody castle are behaving. So much pining and spurned hearts; it's sickening."

"Yourself included," Draco teased. "Speaking of spurned hearts, where's Pansy?"

"I ran into her after class. She said she had a meeting with our Gryffindor princess in the library for their project," Blaise informed him.

"Any idea how she's doing?" asked Draco. "She's been so busy lately, I haven't been able to talk to her much outside of classes."

"Same with me," Blaise responded, yawning. "Damn, I'm tired. I think I'm going to turn in early tonight. See you tomorrow?"

Draco nodded, watching him leave. He finished his potatoes in quiet thought. When he tuned back into reality, nearly everyone in the Great Hall had departed.

Thirty minutes until he officially needed to start his rounds. Draco paced the hallways, needing time to think away from he hustle and bustle. Several minutes later he found himself on the third floor. He nearly startled out of his skin when the door to Professor Thorne's classroom leapt open.

"How could you be so foolish?" Professor Thorne was saying. "You could've ruined everything you've worked so hard to achieve."

Draco quirked an eyebrow, watching as a rather sulky Pieter Kartrick followed Thorne into the corridor.

"You need to control your anger," Professor Thorne insisted urgently. "You've come a long way and show great promise, but this behavior is hindering you and I won't tolerate it any longer, do you hear me?"

Just then, Professor Thorne spotted Draco, clearly eavesdropping and standing smack dab in the middle of the corridor.

"Look, Mr. Kartrick, I understand you are dealing with a lot and may be feeling a lot of pressure, but I can only do so much for you. You need to be more responsible."

"Of course, _Professor,_" scoffed Pieter sharply, glaring. "Because you're definitely one to talk."

Professor Thorne threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Right, then," Thorne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Better hurry onto bed; it's nearly curfew."

Professor Thorne, usually such the annoyingly friendly and nosy type turned to Draco tiredly, almost seeming annoyed by his presence.

"Mr. Malfoy, you're starting your rounds a tad early, aren't you?"

"Just clearing my thoughts," Draco responded lightly. "I'm sure you can understand."

"Yes, actually, I can," the professor sighed again. "I was helping Mr. Kartrick catch up for most of the evening, as he's recently missed a good deal of class."

Draco nodded.

"Speaking of which, I would like to meet with you when you're next available to go over your term paper," Thorne expressed, staring at him pointedly.

Draco scowled, remembering how earlier in the day he'd received a D- on that very same blasted term paper.

"I'll see what I can do," Draco replied dryly.

"See to it that you do," Thorne insisted. "Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy."

"Goodnight, sir."

The door clipped shut behind him. Draco set off in the direction Pieter had disappeared, following silently behind the dark and brooding student. Coming to an abrupt halt outside the Gryffindor portrait hole, Pieter turned around and looked Draco dead in the face, startling him.

"Is there any particular reason you've been following me all this time or do you simply just not have anything better to do in your pathetic waste of a life?" he snarled.

Draco sneered.

"First of all, check your attitude, Kartrick," Draco said smoothly. "Disrespecting a teacher _and_ the Head Boy? Your conduct lately has amazed me. Perhaps Thorne was right about you being a nut-case."

At first, it seemed Pieter might hit him, but he simply glared.

"Get to bed before I dock points," Draco threatened.

"Last time you threatened me with that, you docked points from _Slytherin_," Pieter reminded him. "And last time I checked, consuming alcohol inside the school perimeter was against the school's conduct. It would be a shame if the Head Boy were reported for doing such an inappropriate deed."

Draco frowned as he departed from Pieter, knowing he probably shouldn't have taunted him, but finding great pleasure in doing so, nonetheless. He continued on with his patrol of the seventh floor, wishing desperately for some peace and quiet. He would give anything to be alone.

Suddenly, a familiar frayed tapestry swayed, as if a gentle breeze had sifted through the corridor. It was soon replaced by a doorway, allowing him passage into a distantly familiar room.

Draco swallowed.

The last time he'd set foot inside the Room of Requirement had been his previous year at Hogwarts, during the final battle of Hogwarts.

_Is this some kind of sick joke?_ wondered Draco nervously as he stepped through the doorway.

The room was dimly lit by a few candles positioned in a rather large chandelier hanging from the middle of the plum colored ceiling, their wax dripping delicately like tears from a weeping willow. He was surrounded by an expansive plethora of books; the walls were all covered, foot to ceiling in bookshelves. It was his perfect dream of solitude.

Outside the wind howled, waltzing a dangerous dance with soft, white flakes. They swirled madly, like a spell of chaos. It was enchanting.

He loved the snow.

His hands stretched forth, cracking the window open and allowing he snow to kiss his flushed cheeks.

_Creak._

Suddenly, the candles extinguished all at once, throwing him into an abyss of darkness. The door in Draco's heart slammed shut at the sound. The moon's silvery glow bathed his form with the only light in the room.

A breathy whisper reached his ears.

"Draco?"

He wheeled around.

"Who's there?" he demanded, squinting against the darkness.

Ahead of him, something shuffled in the darkness. And then she stepped into the patch of moonlight, just a few paces in front of him.

"Oh."

A thousand emotions went through that one word. She blinked softly, almost dejectedly.

"I can go," she said, gesturing to the exit.

"No, don't," he blurted without restraint. "I just..."

"Wanted to be alone?"

"How'd you guess?" he wondered.

"We're in the same room of requirement," she explained quietly. "Which means we both wished for the same thing."

Silence.

"Do you want to sit?" he offered, gesturing to one of the velvety armchairs.

She paused for a moment, as if half-considering the offer, but then shook her head.

"I should probably go."

"Hermione, wait."

_Why are you doing this to yourself?_ hissed his thoughts. _Don't you think she'd stay if she wanted to? She wants to leave, you idiot. She wants to be away from you. _

"I can't keep doing this."

There was a small hysteria in her words. She twitched slightly as he stepped toward her.

"Keep doing what?"

He should have just let her go, but she was here and so was he. That had to count for something.

"This!" she shrieked finally. "Pretending we don't exist to each other. Looking the opposite way when the other passes. Communicating through prefects, like we're five years old. We didn't ignore each other this much when we _hated_ each other. I just can't do it anymore! I'm going insane pretending. Pretending there was nothing between us. Pretending that we didn't _kiss_."

And there it was. The big elephant in the room. The enormous, smelly, loud purple elephant in yellow polka-dot pajamas that trampled into the room whenever they locked eyes, disrupting and overturning the smallest improvements that he'd made in pretending nothing had happened.

"We agreed we would forget it—"

"Ever happened," she finished hoarsely, almost tearfully. He couldn't tell if she was crying or not.

He heard a soft rustling sound, almost as if she'd found an armchair to sit in.

"I know what we agreed on, and I _tried _so damn _hard_. But I can't pretend it doesn't exist—_we_ don't exist. I can't just make whatever I'm feeling disappear."

"And what are you feeling?" Draco ventured hesitantly.

"God, I don't even know anymore!" she choked.

There was a strangled sound coming from her throat, something between a sob and a hiccup. The sound pinched him somewhere deep inside, as if every nerve in his system had frosted over spontaneously. She cried like he'd never experienced before, as if everything she'd been forcing down had finally come erupting to the surface.

Draco knew the feeling all too well.

He wanted to scream. Yell. Punch something. Anything to stop the very same tears from bubbling to he surface. He would not cry.

Instead, he lifted his wand, illuminating the room. The room's decor had changed slightly since Hermione had entered. A warm fire nestled near them in the marble fireplace and peach colored drapes billowed against the windows. He could see her perfectly now, and the sight of her took his breath away.

He stepped toward her and sunk to his knees by her chair, reaching out to clasp her hand. She turned to him in surprise, her ocher eyes shining brightly in the candlelight like liquified gold.

"Your eyes were always so beautiful after you cried," he admitted as a pearl shaped tear landed on his hand. "It's something I always noticed."

"Is that why you made me cry all the time?" she asked coyly and a ghost of a smile appeared on her face.

Choosing to ignore her question, he simply said, "I always preferred your smile."

The corners of her lips drooped and her eyes filled again. She turned away from him, casting her gaze up toward the glistening crystal of the chandelier.

"Normally, that would encourage a positive reaction," he muttered.

She gave another gurgling sob-hiccup.

"Draco, I'm so confused," she confessed, tracing her thumb across the back of his hand. "What does this mean?"

"It means...that I can't go on pretending I don't feel something for you," he started slowly, realizing there was no going back, "like things haven't changed between us."

She regarded him uncertainly, shook her head slowly, and covered her mouth with her slender fingers, as if trying to trap another sob inside her.

"Neither can I," she finally agreed, gazing at him through tear stained lashes.

"I just don't know what this is and I'm going to need some time to figure things out," Hermione continued.

"Well, I suppose that's only fair."

"What do we do until then?" Hermione asked, staring down at their interlocked fingers.

"Until then...I suppose we just act normal," he said. "We don't ignore each other, we don't act differently than the way we were acting before the ball."

She nodded.

"It stays between us, and we take each day as it comes."

They remained in the Room of Requirement for quite some time until a distant booming from the grounds alerted them of the time.

Hermione shot up from the chair.

"We need to finish our rounds!" she cried and Draco jumped promptly to his feet.

"Bloody hell, I'd completely forgotten," he confessed, darting toward the door with Hermione in tow. "We were supposed to have turned in our reports to McGonagall's office box by now."

"What are we going to do?" fretted Hermione as they tore outside.

"This is the first time all year we've been late, Hermione. I'm sure McGonagall can handle _one_ late report."

"I don't know." Hermione continued to worry and Draco gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"We'll be fine," he promised.

They shared a long look and then Draco lightly eased his hand from hers, shoving them in his pockets. Although she understood why he did so, the rejection, however unintended, still stung. It would be a tad suspicious if a student out past curfew or a teacher spotted them holding hands.

"I should probably tell you about Pansy," Hermione said as they headed toward the lake.

"Pansy?" Draco perked up at the mention of his friend. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine, but I should tell you she's getting a bit suspicious," Hermione informed him quietly. "Before you informed me about your ring, we'd been researching some ancient stones for our project in History of Magic. One of them so happened to be Alexandrite."

Draco blanched. "You mean..."

"Pansy's starting to see some major connections between your ring and Alexandrite."

"But my ring _is_ Alexandrite," Draco said.

"I know that, obviously, but it's obvious Pansy doesn't know. Don't you think you should tell her before she figures it all out on her own?"

"Can't you just not do your project on Alexandrite?"

"Are you _crazy_?" Hermione laughed. "It's one of the most powerful magical stones in history. It's been sought out for centuries by powerful wizards, including Voldemort. Not only will we get the best grade in class, but if I can familiarize myself with the stone, I can help you understand it better."

"Doubt it," he grumbled. "And anyway, I'm sure you both have perfect grades already. A few points docked for a change in your topic won't be all that bad."

"What are you so afraid of?" Hermione wondered. "Don't you think it would be helpful for Pansy to know about your ring?"

"No," he stated firmly and Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Because then she would want to get involved and it's already too dangerous. And why are _you_ lecturing me about including people in my problems? Shouldn't you be telling someone by now? Have you told _anyone_?"

Hermione glanced away from him.

"Neville," she said after a moment. "But he thinks it was a sick Halloween prank. We don't talk much."

"Ginny Weasley?" he prompted.

"We aren't exactly friendly with each other right now," Hermione disclosed sharply. "She doesn't enjoy my new choice in company."

"You mean me," he guessed.

"You, Pansy, Blaise," she clarified. "But Blaise knows, right?"

Draco looked at her in surprise. "How did you know?"

"It's pretty obvious, Draco," said Hermione. "He's constantly trying to get us to talk, making cryptic little comments that only someone who really knows what's going on behind the scenes would say. And he's your best friend. If I could tell Ginny, I would, but I..."

She trailed off, biting her lip.

"What?"

She gazed up at him through tear-laden lashes. "Can't."

"Hermione, you need a friend," he insisted, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look at him. "You can't keep doing this. Your life is in danger."

"It's not that simple, Draco," she pressed. "They've all had to worry about me enough. We've been through enough. If I can do this without them, I will. And please, don't argue with me about it because I've already made up my mind. It's _my_ choice and I am choosing not to include them this time around."

"You don't have anything to be guilty about, Hermione," Draco said. "What if you need them?"

"I learned a while ago not to lean on other people, especially people you are attached to. You become dependent and one day you fall down and realize no one's there to stop it or help you up. You learn to do it on your own."

Draco swallowed, at a loss for words. The only time he'd felt remotely close to the feeling she was describing was during the war, when he had been assigned Dumbledore's demise. But even then he had had Snape, his mother. Pansy and Blaise, too. They'd always been there in some way. He wondered what had happened in the Golden Trio's lives that had cost Hermione her friends.

It seemed impossible to consider, but was it possible that Slytherins made better and more loyal friends than Gryffindors?

_No,_ he thought.

It was apparently a lot deeper than that. They were all human, after all. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Golden Trio or not.

"It's so beautiful at night," Hermione expressed and Draco realized that they'd reached the lake. "Magical."

Together they sat on the large boulder by the lake, gazing out at the expansive moon-drenched water. Closing the distance between them, her fingers wove their way through his, clasping his hand tightly in hers. They sat there in silence, listening to the drowsy calls of sparrows perching high in the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

"Tomorrow is Valentine's Day," Hermione realized, her eyes widening. "I can't believe so much time has passed."

Draco nodded, knowing all too well what day was soon to dawn. Pausing a moment to rumple through his cloak pockets, he pulled out a slender purple velvet box.

"I had intended on giving this to you sooner, but we weren't exactly on speaking terms when we returned from the holiday," he explained softly, placing the box in her cold hands.

"Draco," she started, but he held up his hand to stop her.

"Consider this my late Christmas gift," he finished, gesturing for her to open it. "And an early Valentine's gift."

The hidden meaning in those words did not go unnoticed by Hermione and she stared at him openly, conflicted.

"No attachment," he promised. "Just a gift for someone I..."

He trailed off, clearing his throat. "Someone I care about."

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione carefully opened the velvet box. Upon opening it, Hermione gasped, her pale hand trembling to her lips. A long breath escaped her lips, dancing across his face warmly.

"Draco," she stammered. "It's...beautiful. But I could never accept this."

"I'm glad you like it," he said, taking the jeweled pendant from its velvet bed and ignoring her protests. "Turn around."

She pulled her long locks away from her neck, allowing him to clasp the pendant around her slender neck. As it slid down the gem gleamed a bight purple.

_Odd,_ he thought to himself, _I was so sure it had been blue._

It hung adoringly around her neck, nestling comfortably in her cleavage. He swallowed, noticing the two top buttons on her blouse were unbuttoned.

Snap.

"What was that?" Hermione breathed, whipping around.

"You've got to be joking," Draco snarled, jumping to his feet. "I _saw_ him go through the portrait hole. What's he doing out here again?"

"Pieter?" Hermione exhaled.

She caught sight of him just as he slipped through a grove of trees, heading into the shallow area of the Forbidden Forest, which separated the Quidditch field from the lake.

"This is like the fifth time, Draco. We really need to do something about this."

"Don't you think I've tried?" Draco muttered, grabbing her hand and taking off in the direction he'd disappeared. "Every single time I talk to McGonagall about it, she insists she'll talk to him, but it obviously never made a difference. I can only dock so many points when Professor Thorne keeps being the devil's advocate and claiming Pieter is mentally unstable and emotionally imbalanced and rubbish like that."

"Well, he is," Hermione pointed out. "And Dimitri has been so good to him. Heaven knows I couldn't put up with it, but he's stuck with him all year, making sure he goes to class, keeps up with the assignments, keeps out of trouble."

"_Dimitri?"_

"Oh, really, Draco," scoffed Hermione, flushing. "It's his first name, not an Unforgivable."

"Well, I apologize for thinking it's a tad strange for a student to refer to her professor by his first name!" Draco snapped.

"Why are you getting so bent out of shape? You mean to tell me that you never referred to any of the teachers by their first name before?"

"Sure I did, outside of school," Draco said.

"Well, forgive me but last time I checked, school hours are over," Hermione sniffed. "Damn it, you've distracted me. We lost him."

"Good Lord," Draco grumbled, staring about the leafy, frost bitten clearing. "How the hell did that happen?"

"It's a wonder," Hermione said sarcastically. "Wait, did you hear that?"

Draco listened carefully. "Voices."

"It sounds like..."

Draco mentally cursed his awful luck.

"Blaise and Pansy," Draco stated dryly. "If they find us together out here this late at night, it's going to look suspicious."

"What should we do?" Hermione asked.

"You stay here and see if Kartrick comes back. I'll go get rid of them and let you know when the coast is clear."

"Alright," she agreed.

As Draco set off toward the Quidditch pitch, he wondered why his best friends were out so late, and what he would say to them when asked the same.

"What are you two doing out here so late?" Draco demanded.

Blaise and Pansy whipped around, broomsticks still in hand.

"Draco! What the hell are you doing out here?" Blaise yelped.

"I believe I just asked you that question," Draco reminded him. "McGonagall asked me to do some extra rounds. What's your excuse? Curfew was an hour ago."

Blaise and Pansy shared a horrified look, as if he'd just informed them that the Minister of Magic had died.

"I _told_ you that was the curfew bell!" Pansy said, shoving Blaise slightly. "But you insisted it wasn't. I can't _believe_ we've been out here for _two_ hours."

"What? Don't blame _me._ You're the one that offered to help me with my feint!" Blaise countered.

"Calm down, you two," Draco said, noticing how their voices bounced off the pitch, echoing deep into the night. "No need to start a bloody war. I'll give you a warning this time, but please don't let me find you in this situation again, okay? Bring a pocket watch next time."

"Merlin," Pansy griped. "The _one night_ I decide to - "

A sudden sound ripped through the hollow night air, like the tearing of teeth on ragged flesh.

A scream.

"What the hell?" gasped Pansy, her eyes darting past Draco to scan the forest behind him.

A scream so familiar to Draco it dared to suffocate him where he stood.

It was the scream from his nightmares.


	27. Truth

_**Alexandrite ©**_

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.

**A/N: **This week has been incredibly hectic. I've had to complete finals _and_ I've been in the hospital with appendicitis and recovering from surgery, so it's been a struggle the last couple of weeks to punch out a new chapter, but here it is at long last. Please review and let me know what you think.

Enjoy!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Six<em>

_Truth_

* * *

><p><em>I sense there's something in the wind<em>  
><em>It feels like tragedy's at hand<em>  
><em>And though I'd like to stand by him,<em>  
><em>Can't shake this feeling that I have;<em>  
><em>The worst is just around the bend<em>

__"Sally's Song"_—Amy Lee___

* * *

><p><em>Crack.<em>

Hermione's eyes snapped open.

The tall tree she had been leaning on suddenly seemed to rough, too close. She pushed off the wide trunk with her foot. Her heart immediately began to shake.

She could hear Draco in the distance, just outside the border of the trees. Pansy and Blaise were howling at each other like it was doomsday. But she was certain she'd just heard something quieter, like a branch breaking under the pressure of something's weight, coming from the thicket of trees across the clearing.

_Snap._

She squinted into the darkness directly ahead of her, swallowing loudly as the moon sought cover under a fray of gray clouds, throwing her into momentary blackness.

"W—Who's there?" she squeaked, fumbling in her robes for her wand and hating the way her voice shook.

"_Hermione..._"

Her breath clenched tightly in her throat. Someone had whispered her name.

"Kartrick, if that's you, you know perfectly well that you shouldn't be out here," Hermione called out, squaring her shoulders with all the authority she could muster.

"_Princess..."_

Hermione staggered backward, smacking her skull against the tree behind her and dropping her wand.

"N—N—No," she gasped, dropping to her knees in the moist soil and scrambling in the frost-laced muck for her wand. "_No_. No!"

Where was it? Where the hell had it gone?

She could feel her panic mounting. Black swam across her vision and she swayed.

Where the hell was her wand—wait, was that it? She examined the thin object in her wand and threw it back down furiously—a branch.

"_Hermione..."_

"Who the—the hell are—are you?" she demanded, wishing for the moon to peek out from under the darkening clouds so she could find her wand.

Logic defied her, her thoughts hyperventilating.

_Don't you dare, _snapped her thoughts. _Don't choke, don't freeze. You are strong. Believe in your strength. Don't let it go._

"Show yourself!"

Her shout tore from her throat before she could think, as if it were possessed. Several branches broke ahead of her and Hermione's heart clamped as a figure emerged from the depths of the woods, drenched in shadow and covered in a cloak. Upon further inspection, Hermione noticed a Gryffindor prefect badge glimmering against the dark wool of the figure's cloak.

Distracted, she stopped her search of her wand. She stared, puzzled, at the feminine hands with familiar jagged-ridged nails, bitten to the quick and reaching toward her.

"Romilda?" she breathed out, her brow furrowing.

The figure paused abruptly, as if a switch had been flipped, her hood falling back over her long curly tresses. Her eyes were black and vacant under the darkness of the clouds and trees. It was as if she had no pupils. She was the same, yet drastically different. She seemed thinner, but her muscles were taut, as if every fibre was tied tensely together. There was no gloat or sneer upon her face, no sign of her at all. And yet, there she stood.

Romilda Vane.

"What are you doing out here?" Hermione wondered, her earlier surprise replaced by annoyance. "Are you with Pieter? I know you two are up to something and—"

Words suddenly had no meaning, vanishing from her lips like a whisper of a moth's wings. She'd seen that look before in a young woman's eyes once before in her sixth year. It had been alarming and intense and she had never forgotten it.

"Oh my God," Hermione whispered in horror, glancing around for her wand desperately.

Romilda licked her lips, and her cracked lips split open with the moisture, a drip of russet moisture trailing down her stark white chin.

"Princess," she responded hollowly, eerily cocking her head to the side and staring darkly at Hermione, a sickening grin sliding across her face. "I've found you and I've come for you."

Suddenly, Romilda lunged for Hermione with a nearly inhuman speed, twisting her elbow behind back until Hermione cried out in surprised panic. Sharp teeth impaled the soft skin of her neck and Hermione howled, flailing ridiculously against Romilda's steel-like grip. Hair ripped and tore from Hermione's scalp, issuing a scream of pain from her throat, breaking through the night sky. Romilda's hands clutched and clawed at her larynx, threatening to crush it completely.

_Fight back!_ demanded Hermione's brain as she gasped, black dancing madly across her vision. _She's going to kill you! Nothing is stopping her!_

Something hard hit her nose and she soared backward, her head cracking roughly against the wide tree. Blinded by the pain and the black smoke swirling over her eyes, she crashed completely to the ground, her kneecap sliding in the mud. Suddenly, her head was on fire, burning, searing, breaking. She screamed viscously but nothing came out but a gurgle of mud and metallic crimson.

_Move, damn it!_ shouted her brain earnestly.

It took all she had but she rolled over and clawed at the first thing she came into contact with, raking the tree bark with her fingernails. The black smoke dissipated from her scattered thoughts just in time for her duck out of the way as Romilda raised her arm and hurled a jagged stone at her face. A sibilant hiss echoed behind her as she scrambled across the forest's floor and terror seized her as an iron hand locked around her ankle and something ripped the skin of her achilles.

It hurt to scream out and she struggled to breathe, kicking against Romilda, to no avail. It was like fighting with someone high on adrenaline and methamphetamine, a monster too strong for her to escape. Romilda was naturally larger than her and taller and far more athletic, giving Hermione a disadvantage as it was. Her cracked and uneven fingernails tore further as they raked through the forest's debris and Romilda snatched her body toward her through the mud. Once more, her hands locked around her neck, crunching her windpipe powerfully.

_Just give up,_ a voice hissed from the darkest recesses of her mind, laughing darkly. _Just let go and let it end. You're weak and you are no match for her. She will kill you and no one will mourn your absence._

"Hermione!"

It was distant, but the voices somehow sent her careening back into the reality of what was happening.

"Are you telling me that you left her alone in the _Forbidden Forest?"_ cawed Pansy from somewhere in the trees. Her voice was distinctive and rough.

Gathering all the strength she could muster, Hermione managed to grab hold of one of Romilda's metal hands and pry it off her neck enough for her to clamp down on the space of skin in between Romilda's thumb and index finger with her teeth.

"How could you have been so stupid, leaving her alone in there, _especially_ with that creep out there!" Blaise shouted.

Closer now. So close.

With Romilda temporarily distracted, Hermione snapped her head back with sharp abandon, connecting with Romilda's nose with a loud, dizzying _crunch._

"I wasn't thinking! I was a bit preoccupied by the pair of you!" hollered Draco. "_Hermione! _God, where are you?"

All three began to call for her and their voices danced like ballerinas across the thick forest, tumbling in and out of her consciousness. Both girls gave way, doubling over in pain, but Romilda retained her inhuman strength and Hermione didn't have a wand.

She just kept coming, like she had no turn off switch and pain was merely a minor nuisance.

"Help!" Hermione rasped, finding it hard to breathe as Romilda threw herself on top of her, fist positioned toward her face.

She flinched to the right just as Romilda's fist slammed downward. Her fist barely missed her face, snagging the edge of her ear and cracking painfully into the muck where Hermione's had previously been. Still, she made no sound, no reaction to the pain.

"Hermione?"

_Over here,_ she thought desperately, wheezing as she kept Romilda's hand away from her face and struggled to gain the upper hand.

"Holy shit! _Stupefy!"_

Romilda slumped over, falling with a thud next to Hermione, frozen. Hermione glanced up to see Pansy standing a few paces away, her bosom heaving and staring murderously at Romilda, wand pointed directly at her heart.

"Thank God," Blaise gasped, breaking through the thicket and into the clearing next to Pansy. "Wait a bloody damn minute. Is that—?"

"Romilda Vane," responded Pansy visciously.

Draco burst through the trees, wand at the ready, eyes wild and darting around.

"I thought you said it was Kartrick?" Blaise deadpanned, gazing at Romilda's paralyzed body in horror.

"What the bloody _hell_?" Draco demanded, running over to Hermione, clutching her to his chest. Through his thin oxford shirt, she felt his heartbeat drumming chaotically. "What the hell happened? I should have _known!_ God damn it."

"Here," Blaise whispered, extending a hand to Hermione.

As Draco and Blaise helped Hermione to her feet and assessed her injuries, Pansy checked Romilda's pulse. Draco's eyes bored into hers, his soft cool fingers tracing over her scuffed up arm, the gaping wound in her neck, the blood seeping from the back of head, her shaking fingers. They eyes were open as a dam, his eyes, full of terror and panic like she had never witnessed. And something else she'd seen only a number of times within those thunder-cloud gray eyes.

Guilt.

She wished she could tell him it wasn't his fault, that he had done the right thing and no one could have seen it coming, but just as soon as the words formulated in her brain, the dam was back up and his jaw locked in place.

"She should be coming round soon," Pansy informed them and turned to Hermione, squinting at her neck. "That's a pretty hefty bruise you have forming there. Does it hurt to talk?"

Hermione nodded, flinching as she did so. Despite herself, furious tears swam in her eyes as she attempted to speak and nothing came out but a feathery rasp.

"Don't talk," Pansy instructed. "You'll only make it worse. We should get her back to the castle. Draco, Blaise, I'm going to need to switch you—she's a bit too heavy for me and we shouldn't levitate her when she's been stupefied."

It seemed for one instant that Draco would refuse, but he let Hermione go and stepped away from her slowly and heavily, as if his shoes were nailed to the ground. Blaise and Draco hauled Romilda to her feet and through the forest, leaving Pansy to help Hermione limp toward the castle.

As they broke the forest boundaries, Pansy turned to Draco.

"Why were you two even in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Rounds," he responded tightly, glancing warily at Hermione, who cast her eyes to the ground.

"That's not a part of your rounds and it's way too late for your rounds anyway. There's a reason it's called the Forbidden Forest, damn it. Don't piss around me," stated Pansy blandly, eyeing him suspiciously.

"We were running a tad behind schedule," Draco replied. "We got held up."

"I know you are lying, Draco Lucius Malfoy," Pansy scoffed. "You should know by now you can't lie to me. And Granger is a rotten liar, so even if she could talk right now I would be able to tell. You haven't spoken to each other in _weeks_ and now suddenly you're doing rounds together again? And now Hermione is getting attacked in the bleeding _forest_ by Romilda Vane? And the way you looked at her when you found her—the way you reacted, like you saw this coming. What the _hell_ is going on with the pair of you?"

"Pansy, just _let it go_," Blaise sighed. "It's none of your business anyway."

"_Excuse_ me?" Pansy started and then stopped, staring at him incredulously. "You _know_, don't you? All this time I've been asking you if you know anything about what's been going on with Draco— "

"Hello, still here," Draco reminded her.

"—and you've known! Are_ you_ going to be honest with me?" Pansy snarled and Blaise flushed.

"Pansy, it's not my place to—"

A frightened squeak interrupted their bickering.

"Looks like the little devil's awoken," Blaise announced acidicly, gesturing toward a wide-eyed Romilda. However, he seemed relieved to have the distraction.

"What happened?" Romilda wondered shakily, clutching her bloody knuckles, then lifting her hands to her gushing, crooked nose. "Ow! God, what the...W—What the h—hell did you two blithering idiots d—d—do to me? Why am...I out h—here? W—What's going _on_?"

The volume of her voice continued to grow in hysteria until the four of them feared she'd wake the entire castle.

"Shut up, shut _up!_" Draco snarled, shaking her roughly, but this only increased her hysterics.

"You're not helping," Blaise said stiffly, shoving Draco off. With a lighter expression, Blaise patted Romilda comfortingly. "Romilda, we are not here to hurt you. We want to help you. Can you tell us what the last thing you remember is?"

She blinked for several seconds, as if trying to recall the last hour or so.

"I…remember going to the library," Romilda said quietly, her nose scrunched up, eyes still unfocused and darting between Draco and Blaise. "But it was late and dark. I remember waiting for something and then it just goes dark and—Oh my god, why can't I remember _anything_? What happened to me?"

"You attacked her!"Draco declared searingly, gesturing sharply toward Hermione. "You tried to _kill_ her."

Romilda shook her head, her eyes falling onto Hermione's limping and bleeding frame. Something coursed through her eyes, flashing knowingly. She took in Hermione's bludgeoned appearance and recoiled, glancing down at her hands and then back up at her.

"We found you in the Forbidden Forest," Pansy continued. "I stunned you, but not before you could rip some of her flesh off and crush her windpipe."

"No," Romilda exhaled deeply, shaking her head madly. Heavy sobs racked her chest and Blaise stared down at her, visibly uncomfortable. "No, I wouldn't _do_ that…I don't remember…You're_lying_."

"Bitch, _don't_ accuse me of lying," snarled Pansy hotly, "when you are the one that nearly killed my best friend."

Hermione started at this, wondering if she'd heard her right.

Romilda sobbed for several more seconds before the tears abruptly stopped and she froze in place, expression darkening.

"He did this to me, didn't he?" she voiced numbly, staring dead ahead into the night, like the very life had seeped from her and she had nothing left.

"Are you suggesting that someone else is responsible for this?" Pansy inquired, glaring.

"Of course, it seems so obvious now," Draco scoffed. "I should have known she wouldn't have had the spine to do something like this. She was cursed. The Imperius Curse."

"Who was it? Kartrick?Did he do this?" Blaise demanded and Romilda's sobs exploded into screaming hysterics.

Slowly, it dawned on Hermione and she wondered why she hadn't pieced it together before. Draco's dreams, the admirer notes hand-delivered by Romilda right after Pieter had started talking to her. Their budding relationship and Romilda's growing cruelty. The rumor spread from hatred and jealousy. That night in the music room, their strange whispered argument, the tension in Pieter's eyes but his determination not to let anything get in the way, the dead way he responded to Romilda after she'd declared her love, his ploys to scare her and weaken her, his distance, all leading up to this.

"He said he was going to stop," she continued, speaking to no one in particular. Her eyes grew wide and she began to hyperventilate. "He...lied to me..."

"_Who?_" asked Pansy, frustrated.

"I can't…" shuddered Romilda, eyes bugging madly. "He'll kill me."

"Romilda, if you're in danger and you are fearing for your life, you must report it to a teacher," Draco explained. "And as Head Boy I'm required to see to it that you do so. And I'm afraid I'm going to have to report you as well, as you nearly killed another student tonight. We need to evaluate this situation and make sure you will be protected and will not be coerced again."

Hermione moved forward, whether to comfort her or confront her, she had no idea.

"You!" Romilda cried sharply, clutching Hermione's wrist. Hermione stumbled backward, clawing at her in a flurry of panic, but her grip remained tight and desperate. A sensation of cracking glass erupted through her chest cavity. "You're not safe. He'll stop at _nothing_ until he gets to you, do you understand? He'll kill us all…He's always watching. _Don't let him find you_."

"Hey! Don't touch her!" snapped Draco, stepping swiftly between her and Romilda. Suddenly, Romilda darted into the castle, as if the devil himself were upon her, shouting madly and sobbing like a terrorized child.

"Damn it," growled Blaise. "She's headed toward the Gryffindor dormitories. She'll wake the whole bloody castle."

"She's going to cause a panic," Pansy said. "Somebody has to go after her and take her to a teacher."

But Blaise had already set off after the panicked prefect.

"Don't let her get away!" shouted Draco after Blaise.

They began walking after Blaise and Romilda, entering the warm castle, dimly lit with floating candles. But Hermione wasn't paying attention anymore. Pansy stared at her with a wrinkled, confused expression. Hermione visibly shook, shaking her head. She had to tell Draco about what she'd heard from Romilda and Pieter. She had to explain that it had been Pieter that had been responsible. They had to help her.

"Should we take her to the hospital?" Draco wondered, also noticing her odd state.

"You and what army? Want me to stun her, too? She doesn't need the hospital, Draco," Pansy scoffed, still staring at Hermione with penetrating indigo eyes. "She just got a little banged up. It's not like Romilda had rabies or anything."

"She was just attacked!" Draco protested sternly, coming to a firm halt outside of the Head dorm. "She probably has a concussion! I need to— "

"You _need_ to trust me," Pansy said tensely, putting her hand on his chest. "What she needs right now is rest. I can patch up her scrapes and clean her up in no time. There's no reason to go creating a panic and Merlin knows you can't get adequate rest in the hospital wing. And she doesn't have a damn concussion; I already checked that. Once she feels up to it and she can speak for herself, we'll report the incident. And as for you, you need to chill out. Honestly, the way you're acting, you'd think you were the one that got attacked."

Hermione watched Draco carefully as he swallowed, diverting his gaze from hers while he mumbled the password and allowed Pansy to hoist her inside the room.

"Where's her bedroom?" asked Pansy stiffly.

"I'll show you," Draco said, climbing the stairs.

Once they entered Hermione's sleeping quarters, Pansy turned to Draco.

"Draco," she said, staring at him expectantly. "You need to leave now."

Draco shook his head. "No."

"What, are you afraid I'm going to suffocate her with her pillow or something?" Pansy laughed. "Honestly, Draco."

"I'm not leaving her side," he vowed. "I did that once tonight and she was almost killed."

"But she's okay now," Pansy insisted calmly. "She needs to get cleaned up and undressed. Stay and watch by all means if it will make you feel better, but I'm not so sure she's going to be comfortable with that."

Once upon a time, Hermione would have smiled at the joke, but it was more than she could do to keep herself from falling to the ground.

"If it will make you feel better, I will stay the night with her and make sure she's okay," Pansy whispered to him, almost out of Hermione's earshot, clutching his hand.

"Fine," Draco conceded, exhaling. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

"We won't," Pansy stated, rolling her eyes and shutting the door in his face. "What the devil is wrong with him?"

For once, Hermione was grateful for the inability to talk, as that was the last thing she wished to do tonight.

"Do you have a supply cabinet or something?" asked Pansy, glancing about her room.

Hermione nodded, furrowing her brow. She pointed to her trunk at the far end of her room where her potion kit lay resting inside. She watched as Pansy conjured a large bowl and a wash cloth and placed them on her bedside table.

"_Augmenti_," Pansy muttered, filling up the bowl and dipping the rag inside the water.

Pansy snapped the top of Hermione's trunk open with a swift motion and plucked the potion kit from its depths, setting it gently on the vanity. Turning round once more, she tipped vials of essential oils into the basin. Pungent lemon juice, cinnamon grounds, rosemary leaves, eucalyptus oil, and lavender oil all swirled in one aroma-filled mess in the water.

"Let that soak for another minute so that the cloth can soak up the oils and then wipe your wounds down with it. I will help you with your head when I'm done. Just focus on your arms and your neck and face. Make sure you use all of that mixture. You may want to strip down; your clothes are going to interfere with your wounds and only cause more friction when you try to clean them."

Hermione gawked at her openly. What, was she some kind of witch doctor?

As Hermione unbuttoned her blouse and slipped out of her robes, she watched Pansy closely. The dark-haired beauty spent several minutes seated by the vanity, her hands fast at work, measuring and mixing, swirling and siphoning while Hermione tried hard not to hiss at the stinging and throbbing erupting all over her body as she followed Pansy's instructions.

Several minutes later, Pansy came to Hermione's bed, sitting gracefully upon her duvet.

"Here," she said softly, handing over a dark green liquid. "It's a mix of Pepper-Up potion and dreamless sleep. This will help soothe your throat and keep the nightmares away so you can rest."

Hermione wanted to ask when she'd become so skilled in the art of quick potion-making, but she was too tired and too sore to use the strength to ask. Instead, she raised the flask to her lips and knocked the sugary spearmint concoction back like a lethal shot of fire whiskey. The movement jarred her head and she moaned, clutching her hair.

"I'm going to clean your head wound now, okay? It's going to really hurt, so don't forget to breathe. Just a warning, you're going to get_ very_ drowsy," Pansy explained and Hermione nodded, her eyes feeling like lead already. "Oh, before I forget; I found this in the forest after I stunned the bitch."

She held up a thin wooden stick and Hermione blinked slowly.

"It's your wand," Pansy explained, smirking at her. "I figured you might need it."

It was all the strength she had to reach for Pansy's hand and give it a small squeeze.

"You're welcome," she said, depositing Hermione's muddy robes in the hamper by her closet before assessing her injured skull.

On a normal day, in her right mind, she would have protested this lack of modesty, but she could no longer think clearly and her head felt hot and heavy.

Within minutes after Pansy finished with her injuries and she was fully bandaged, Hermione's thoughts dissipated and her anxiety tumbled away. She held onto reality just in time to see Pansy take off the pendant from around Hermione's neck that Draco had given her earlier and place it on her bedside table. For an instant, Hermione thought she saw Pansy give the necklace an odd look and wanted to ask why, but by then she was already too far gone.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Hermione emerged from a deep sleep into a glitteringly bright room. As the fog lifted from her brain, she slowly sat up, noticing how her head pounded. And suddenly, the events of only a few hours ago leaked into her mind, catching her off guard. She grabbed at her neck and assessed her wounds gingerly.<p>

She felt remarkably better than she had last night. Pansy's potion had really worked its magic and she was glad she hadn't needed to go to the hospital and wake Madame Promfrey.

_Speaking of Pansy,_ she thought, gazing about the empty room. _Where is she? Didn't she stay the night?_

As if on cue, Hermione caught the sound of voices coming from outside her room. Still in somewhat of a daze, she lifted herself from her sheets and stumbled toward the door, opening it just a crack.

"It's Alexandrite, isn't it—your ring?"

She heard Draco give a sigh. "Hermione warned me you might be confronting me about that."

"She _knew_?"

Hermione cringed at Pansy's outburst. Of course, she had a right to be upset with her for not telling her. She could understand why Pansy felt so betrayed, but Hermione also knew the risks involved with including Pansy in their secret.

"Yes," Draco replied. "I asked her not to disclose anything to you. It's too dangerous."

"What is too dangerous that you can't tell your best friend? Hermione knows and obviously Blaise knows. How long has this been going on?"

"Blaise found out soon after I did. He noticed the changes in me and in the ring and we started to do some research. He's actually the one that helped me come to terms with the ring and its powers, convinced me not to give up. He kept me sane, showed me the good in embracing it. Hermione found out farther down the road. After Blaise and I figured out what the ring really was and why everything was happening, he convinced me to confront her about it."

"_Why?"_

"Because it involved her," Draco explained tiredly.

"How? And what exactly are these _powers_?" she wondered.

"Well, I'm not quite sure if the ring has specific powers that I can control," Draco admitted. "After I got the ring from my parents and returned to Hogwarts, I started getting these dreams. At first it was pretty cool; they predicted small things like what the weather was going to be and what the answers were going to be on the upcoming exam, little things."

"Yes, Alexandrite is known for its foretelling powers," Pansy said.

"But then my dreams became more elaborate, more intense. I started dreaming of Hermione Granger. The ring started reacting and going berserk. Every time I came into contact with Hermione Granger or something was about to happen, especially something bad, it would flare up and burn and change colors from green to red. It was very confusing to me until Blaise put two and two together. The more I ignored it, the more powerful the warnings became, the more horrifying the nightmares were. I even attempted to get rid of the ring, but it would always find me again. You remember when I was hospitalized? That was because the ring had become such a part of me, or as Blaise would put it 'bonded' to me, and had tapped into my energy so much, that I became violently ill without it. The more I ignored it and its warnings, the worse they became. And they were all of her…dying tragic deaths, being set on fire, drowning in her own blood."

"Oh my God," Pansy gasped. "But _why?_ I mean, she's fine. Well, I mean you know you what I mean."

Hermione leaned against the wall for support. Hearing him talk about this, about the horror that lived with him every night, made her sick.

"She's not fine, Pansy," Draco responded darkly. "She's in grave danger. Someone or something is trying to kill her."

"Kill her?" Pansy whispered. "Last night wasn't just a coincidence, was it? Someone had been watching you, set it all up. Cursed Romilda. They tried to kill her last night, didn't they? Corward can't even do it themselves? I bet it was Pieter Kartrick."

"He is definitely a suspect, but now we have Romilda in the picture, too. Who knows how many more are in on this?"

"Of course it is him, Draco!" Pansy scoffed. "Look at the facts. How many times has that prick tried to hurt her? He's a loose cannon! You saw what he did to me."

Draco nodded. "Pansy, calm down. I understand all of this and believe me, I've wanted to do something about him but I can't prove it's him. And you know how Hogwarts is when you falsely accuse someone of something like this. After last night, though, it's evident something needs to be done."

Hermione could hear Pansy pacing.

"Draco, sweetie, why didn't you just tell me?" Pansy asked. "I could have helped…Kept a closer eye on her, on you. I've been so angry for so long, when all this time you and Blaise have just been trying to keep her alive. And I've been so awful to her, to all of you."

Her voice sounded weak and strained, as if she were struggling to speak.

"Don't cry, Panse," Draco said softly and there was a rustling of fabric, like they were embracing. "I thought that keeping you out of the loop would keep you safe. I already had her death on my conscience, I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Draco, we almost lost her last night," muttered Pansy brokenly. "What if we hadn't found her in time?"

"Dont," Draco snapped. "I can't. Please, just don't go there. It's taken me hours to put the sight of her mangled body out of my head. Seeing her like that…so broken and fearful."

He sucked in a breath that seemed to shudder out of him.

"Draco," Pansy pressed quietly.

"No! It's hard enough closing my eyes every damn night and seeing dead brown eyes that will never sparkle with anger or happiness again. Dead lips that will never berate me for being unkind or argue with me about house elf rights or encourage me to be a better man! I see her death every time I close my eyes, hear her pleading with me to find a way to save her."

"All the more reason to stop pretending this doesn't exist! She was nearly put in a coma last night! You can't just keep thinking it will go away or that it will only get worse if you tell someone about it! And who knows, maybe it will, but at least she would have more protection. If someone tries to kill her and only you, Blaise, and I know, how are we going to keep her alive? If they've been plotting this entire time, they obviously have a plan and will clearly stop at nothing. Who's to say you won't be killed in the process, leaving her to die?"

"I know. All that matters anymore is keeping her alive so that I don't have to live with that image in my head for the rest of my life. So that I don't have to live with her ghost, with her being nothing more than a dream…with her being gone. She's always been a constant part of my life, involuntary or not. I don't think I could live in a world where she doesn't exist."

Hermione felt her knees buckle and had to clutch her doorframe in order not to fall. There was a pregnant silence which seemed to suffocate everyone in the room.

"You love her."

It wasn't a question. Hermione jolted, quivering as she strained to hear his response and heard nothing.

"I know you fancied her," Pansy continued, "but I didn't understand how deep the affection for her was. I suppose I'm not surprised. It's bound to happen when you dream of the girl every night and see her every day, share a common room with each other. It wasn't until last night that I realized you had fallen in love with her."

Last night? It had been such a daze to Hermione.

"Why? Because I was scared to death she might have _died_?" Draco laughed darkly.

"No," Pansy stated. "It was the pendant."

Hermione heard Draco sigh and furrowed her brow.

"How did you know?" Draco asked quietly.

"Draco, your mother told me all about it before she gave it to you. She wanted to make sure you would like it," Pansy explained. "She told me that she was going to give it to you so that when the appropriate time arose you would give it to the woman you are in love with. The one that meant more to you than your own life, that you could see a future with, and who you could not live without."

Hermione swayed in the doorway, her eyes closing in on the glittering bluish purple pendant on her bedside table. He'd given it to her just last night while they admitted they meant something to each other.

"Yes, I'm aware of what she said. I read the letter she placed in the box," Draco replied.

And there it was. Plain in her face. He knew exactly what his mother had intended of him when he gave her the necklace last night. Her hands shook.

It was too much, too soon, too fast. What did it mean? How was she supposed to deal with this and face him after this?

_He doesn't know you heard. And technically he didn't admit he loved you. And even then, you don't know what kind of love it is._

Through the panic, Hermione also felt something more bubbling inside her, clenching her heart and squeezing her emotions all over the place.

Nervousness, confusion, and relief.

Most of all she felt an enormous sense of release, like an invisible cloud had extinguished over her head. No more of the rain and thunder and lightning that was her turbulent life.

She realized how much she now needed Draco in her life. And she hated it. This past month of not speaking, not acknowledging the other existed, was just too much after everything they'd been. Even when they disliked each other, they didn't ignore each other. He stood like an anchor all these years, finding some way to ground her from all the chaos, whether it be a distracting jibe or an unexpected compliment. But soon she was sure the rain and ocean that was her life would be too powerful to keep her and she would be swallowed up whole, taking him with her to crash and burn and drown—

"I'm late."

"What for?"

"I've got a meeting with Professor Thorne to discuss my 'slipping grade' and my 'lack of focus' in his class," Draco responded, snorting. "Like that even matters."

"So, you won't be going to Hogsmeade with us?" Pansy questioned, disappointed.

Hermione had nearly forgotten about their trip to Hogsmeade today. One of the last trips of the year.

"I'm sorry, Panse," Draco said soberly. "I can't make it. But you'll have Blaise and Hermione. You'll be okay and I'll see you later tonight. It will be fine, I promise. I know this day is hard for you, but let them be there for you, okay? Don't push them away. They're annoyingly caring people, Blaise and 'Mione."

She jumped at the sound of her nickname. Smiling, she realized she liked it coming so casually and reverently from his lips. She shook her head.

_Focus, Granger._

The portrait hole creaked as it shut behind him and Hermione hurried into her bedroom, quietly closing the door and opening her wardrobe to change. Seconds later, Pansy knocked lightly on her door.

"It's open," Hermione replied and Pansy pushed her way in.

"You're finally up," she noted, frowning. "Hurry and get dressed, will you? We're meeting Blaise outside in ten minutes."

Slightly affronted by Pansy's rough attitude and not knowing at all what she had done, she slipped on some jeans and a black tank top before grabbing her jumper from the bottom of her bed.

"Let's go," Pansy said stiffly once she'd descended the stairs.

Once they arrived at the entrance of the castle, a light rain had started to fall over the misty mountains. Blaise flagged them down, guarding a carriage for their use, and they climbed in. The Hermione she used to be would be happily joined in conversation with Neville and listening to Fay and Ginny ramble on about Quidditch and Padma and Luna gossiping about the Quibbler. It felt strange sharing a carriage with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, two people that, until this year, had been nothing to her. She was perfectly content sharing laughs while Blaise and Pansy bickered and Blaise poked fun at Hermione's hair. It was a different kind of friendship, a deeper relationship.

And though she felt a tad out of place without Draco by her side, she felt at ease with the strange pair.

"Did you manage to find Romilda?" asked Pansy abruptly.

Hermione turned away from the carriage window and Pansy, though she had asked Blaise the question, was staring at Hermione, watching her play with the pendant around her neck.

"No. She ran to her dorm before I could even explain anything. And I haven't seen her since. She wasn't at breakfast. Speaking of which, neither were you, Hermione."

"I obviously et her sleep in," Pansy explained tersely, rolling her eyes. "She needed her rest."

"You look loads better than last night, pet," Blaise said bluntly and Hermione guffawed at his snarky bluntness.

On another day, he might have come off to Hermione as rude and insensitive, but now she knew his humor and his heart, and that Blaise didn't have a cruel bone in his body.

"Alright, let's get this over with," Pansy grumbled as they reached Hogsmeade.

Pansy departed their carriage hastily, walking briskly toward the decorated village.

"Why is she in such a foul mood?" Hermione wondered. "I thought she _wanted_ to come to Hogsmeade. She made a huge deal about it."

Blaise gave a deep sigh and eyed Hermione. "I'm going to tell you something very personal about her, but you have to swear not to tell her that you know or that I told you."

He held out his pinky to her and Hermione grinned, wrapping her pinky around his. "Promise."

"Valentine's Day is Pansy's mother's birthday," stated Blaise, his eyes glued on Pansy's brisk form ahead of them.

"Her mother?" Hermione repeated.

She remembered how Pansy had nearly knocked Romilda flat on her back when Romilda had mentioned her mother to her while she was defending Hermione. She'd thought it weird at the time how she'd reacted, but she hadn't thought much of it.

"Pansy's father left the family a long time ago, when Panse was just a kid," Blaise explained. "She has very selective memories of him, but he stopped showing an interest in her life around the time she started Hogwarts. That's when he discovered Pansy's mother's involvement with Voldemort and after that, her mother was very hard on her. It's the little stuff she has a difficult time coping with; she never got her hair brushed, she had to buy her own dress robes for the Yule Ball, she never received a letter while she was away. And Pansy took it out on others. She was rude and callous because it made her mother happy and proud of her and she got attention. Then her mother was killed during the summer and she decided to help rebuild the castle, since it was truly her home and she had nowhere to go. She inherited everything from her mother, but the money means nothing to her. I think that's why she took Theo's betrayal so hard because she held onto him so tight, always afraid that once she opened up, once she let go, she would have no control. And it drove him away."

Hermione blinked. She understood Pansy's rude character and hatred, her judgements. How could she ever have thought of her so poorly when she had gone through so much. She was so strong.

When they entered the Three Broomsticks several minutes later, Blaise glanced at Hermione cautiously and said, "Remember, not a word."

Hermione nodded and followed him into the pub where they found Pansy at a table in the corner. She'd already ordered a basket of crisps and a butterbeer.

"No idea what you lot wanted and you were taking so long," she said, smirking as she sipped her butterbeer. "So, when Rosmerta comes back around, you can order."

Several long minutes later, Blaise flagged down Rosmerta and they ordered. While they waited for their butterbeers and meals, they shared Pansy's crisps.

"Happy Valentines Day, dearies," Rosmerta said when she arrived with their orders and bustled away.

"It's sweltering in here," Blaise moaned.

"Well, duh, do you see how many people are in here?" Pansy observed. "It's madness. Look at all this disgusting nonsense. Merlin, can they get a room already?"

Hermione frowned at the couple seated two tables away and wondered how they had lasted so long without coming up for air from each other.

"Well, shall we head to Zonko's next?" Blaise asked hopefully when Hermione had drained the last drop of her butterbeer and Pansy smiled.

"Sure, why not? I reckon I could probably use a laugh."

"Any idea where Rosmerta's at? Oi!"

Rosmerta nodded at Blaise's call, unloading her tray at the nearby table and sauntered to their table, looking quite flushed.

"Check, please," Pansy said and the middle-aged woman gave them each their separate tickets.

"Oh, wait," Hermione said abruptly, ushering Rosmerta back. "You didn't give me my ticket."

Rosmerta laughed and shook her head.

"I forgot to tell you," she chuckled, bopping herself on the head. "I'm so scatterbrained on days like this. It's already taken care of, dear."

"Nonsense, I haven't paid," she protested.

"A young gentleman paid for it," Rosmerta explained, winking at her saucily. "Asked me to wish you a happy Valentine's Day."

"_What_?"

"He insisted."

"Who?" demanded Blaise and his protective intensity flattered Hermione briefly before the anxiousness came flooding back.

She couldn't help scanning the pub in search of Pieter, Romilda, any sign of a suspicious character.

Rosmerta thought for a moment.

"Haven't the foggiest," she replied sincerely.

"You must have seen what he looked like, surely," Pansy reasoned.

"No, I must not have," Rosmerta answered, growing agitated. "I've been very busy, haven't I? He was wearing his cloak, just come out of the rain and all and his hood was up. He asked me to wish you a Happy Valentine's day and that it was on him and then he paid for it and went about his merry way. Now, if that'll be all, I have customers waiting for this table."

"Well, Merlin's pants," Blaise scoffed, eyes wide. "That's the meanest she's ever been to me."

"Oh, shove it, casanova," Pansy said, throwing her money on the table. "I don't understand how you still have a crush on the woman."

Hermione's throat tightened as she remembered briefly how Ron had always fancied Rosmerta.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" asked Pansy, opening the door of the pub and entering the rain.

"I'm not sure," she replied honestly. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that some random man just paid for my drink and _only_ my drink?"

"Merlin, I know!" Blaise mocked sarcastically. "The least the bloke could have done was pay for mine, too."

"What if it was tampered with?" Hermione fretted.

Pansy seemed to consider this heavily for a moment before she shook her head.

"There's no way," she finally said. "The man only paid for the drink and wished you a happy Valentines Day. Rosmerta was the one to give you the drink and she was the one that got it for you."

Hermione couldn't argue with her logic, but still the uneasiness remained.

"If you're that worried about it, just keep an eye out and if you start feeling funny or sick, go to the hospital wing," Blaise suggested.

"_Maybe_, if you are so worried, you should tell a _teacher._"

Hermione gazed at Pansy openly.

"I was _going_ to talk to Draco about going to see McGonagall this evening when we turn our reports in and report Romilda and Pieter and discuss everything that's happened."

"Funny, Draco said something along those same lines earlier this morning," she replied. "Don't you want to know why he bailed on us?"

"I already know," Hermione lied quickly. "He told me last night."

"Told you what? I'm so lost," Blaise said.

They joked and teased each other the entire way up to Zonko's and bickered the rest of the way to the carriages, leaving Hermione rolling her eyes far too much for her liking.

By the time they returned to Hogwarts, Pansy was royally ticked off with Blaise.

"I'm going to find Draco," she claimed hotly. "Hopefully he's escaped Thorne's lecture by now."

"I thought we were trying to make her day _better_," Hermione said to Blaise, frowning at him.

"Yeah, well, I can only do so much when someone keeps telling me what all my flaws are."

"Maybe you should just stop teasing her so much. I know it's your guys' thing, but sometimes you push it over the edge without realizing it, Blaise."

He sighed, rolling his eyes.

Just then, McGonagall's voice boomed across the grounds, her shrill instructions seeming to go on for miles.

"Why's everyone crowded around the entrance for?" asked Blaise.

"This is not a drill. This is an emergency. I repeat, this is not a drill. Everyone must report to the Great Hall immediately. Anyone found outside the Great Hall will be punished."

Almost in perfect sync, Blaise and Hermione's eyes connected.

"What's going on?" he asked urgently. "McGonagall hasn't used that intercom since third year."

Immediately, all Hermione could think about was Draco. They rushed to the entrance hall, fighting their way through the crowd of panicked and hysterical students. Everywhere she looked, she saw girls crying, first years shrieking. A fifth year boy was vomiting.

"What the bloody hell?" Blaise muttered and grabbed her arm. "Stay close to me."

"What's going on?" asked Hermione.

And then they broke through the crowd and everything went still.

"Gina!" Hermione cried, crossing over to the flustered girl that sat in front of her in Potions every day. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Her purple sweater was covered in blood, her hands stained crimson as well as her face. She sat shaking on the floor, rocking back and forth. When she saw Hermione she scampered away hastily.

"Stay…stay away from me!" she howled.

Just as they carried a stretcher in.

"I saw her...I-I didn't...I was supposed to meet her but I couldn't find a carriage back to the castle...She had to tell me something important...I got lost and...She was by the lake. She…she died in my arms."

Blaise and Hermione gazed at the stretcher as it came to a stop. Gina shrieked and launched herself toward the body of the girl on the stretcher, sobbing uncontrollably as she clutched the young woman's blood-stained robes. The medi-wizards tried to restrain the hysterical Gina before stabbing her roughly in the neck with a syringe, sedating her almost instantly.

Blaise, as if to give her strength, entwined his fingers with hers as the body was pushed down the hall and finally her face was revealed.

All Hermione saw was the Gryffindor prefect badge still attached to her robes and busted, bloody knuckles on lifeless, limp pale hands with ragged, bitten-down fingernails.

Romilda Vane.


	28. Coffined

_**Alexandrite ©**_

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><p>Disclaimer: I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter.<p>

A/N: I know it has been a while since I last updated. I've actually had a bit of writer's block that's prevented me from posting as much as I would like. I've recently had a bit of a breakthrough with this fan fiction, though, so hopefully I can start updating more. Please leave a message for me and let me know how you're enjoying the story. Thank you for your patience and all of your reviews!

P.S. I went back and changed the little "alert" that McGonagall gave in last chapter so that everyone needed to meet in the Great Hall. Because, like an idiot, I forgot until just now that's what Hogwarts does in emergency situations. They meet up in the Great Hall. So whatever, haha.

Enjoy!

-Annie.

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><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Seven<em>

_Coffined_

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><p><em>Are you strong enough to stand <em>

_Protecting both your heart and mine? _

_Who is the betrayer?_

_ Who's the killer in the crowd?_

_ The one who creeps in corridors _

_And doesn't make a sound_

_"Heavy In Your Arms"—Florence + The Machine_

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><p>The castle was chaos.<p>

Colors swirled about her vision, making her light headed and nauseous. Screaming, sobbing, and whispers wrestled around her neck, restricting air flow until there was no sound but the fear in her heart. The ground began to give way, the stones moving out of the walls to crush her. It seemed as if the very ceiling were racing down upon her.

Something hard, like an iron fetter, grasped her wrist, yanking and pulling. Suddenly, something hot and damp connected painfully with her face and Hermione trampled backward, flattening herself against the cool stone of a wall. Her vision slowly returned and through her frantic gasps she whimpered, staring at the boy in front of her. Though his thin lips moved, no sound came out.

Slowly, her hearing began to surface.

"Granger, focus!" Blaise barked. "You have to calm down! _Breathe._"

Hermione tried to do as he instructed, tried to ignore all of the screaming and the crying. Everyone's eyes were on her, demanding an explanation, seeking comfort, searching for instructions.

Noticing her lack of focus, Blaise pulled her further down the corridor, into the shadows and out of sight.

"Better?"

Hermione managed a small nod, allowing herself to regroup. Once her breathing had returned to normal, McGonagall came over the intercom system, her voice echoing loudly throughout the castle.

"_Code_ _Periculum. _Faculty members are to secure the perimeter. Students and Heads of House report to the Great Hall immediately. _Code_ _Periculum. _I repeat, this is a _Code Periculum."_

"What does that mean?" Blaise wondered, turning toward her.

Hermione's throat went dry. She could feel her intestines squirming around each other. There was absolutely no time for another panic attack. She had a job to do.

"It's a security phrase used in situations of extreme danger and risk," she explained quickly. "It's Latin for 'immediate danger'."

Blaise raked a hand through his hair. "Damn. We need to get to the Great Hall."

"I need to find Draco," Hermione argued, her heart faltering as she scanned the frantic crowd of students piling toward the Great Hall. "Go and find Pansy. I'll catch up with you later."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Blaise hollered above the increasingly loud noise.

"I'll be fine, just go!" Hermione assured him, waving him off.

Blaise gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before setting off in the direction of the Great Hall in determination. Hermione swallowed thickly, mentally walking herself through the steps of duties given to the Head Girl and Boy during a crisis.

"Hermione!"

She swiveled around, furrowing her brow as she searched for her caller. Her eyes landed upon Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom, fighting their way through the crowd toward her in urgency.

"Hannah, thank goodness I found you," Hermione gasped, latching onto the honey blonde.

"Did I just hear McGonagall say we were under a_ Code Periculum?_" Hannah inquired, fear evident in her eyes.

Hermione nodded solemnly.

"What the hell is that?" Neville wondered, straining to hear their conversation.

"Listen to me closely, Hannah," Hermione said frantically. "I don't have much time to explain. I need you to round up the other prefects and make sure everyone gets to the Great Hall, then report to your Head of House inside the Great Hall. I need you to tell each of them that."

"Okay," Hannah agreed, nodding her head quickly.

"And Hannah," Hermione continued, bringing Hannah's attention back to her. "Make sure you find Dennis…let him know that his main priority is the task you give him and nothing else."

Hannah raised an eyebrow in confusion. "But what about—?"

"Romilda Vane is dead," Hermione explained briskly. "I need you to go, Hannah. Make sure Neville gets to the Great Hall."

Without another word, Hermione took off in search of Draco. To her right, the last carriages from Hogsmeade were returning and a large thicket of medi-wizards and teachers blocked the entrance so that no one could get out. As students emerged from their carriages and into the castle, they were immediately given instructions and ushered to the Great Hall. When the last students were in the castle, the two large entrance doors were forced shut and the lockdown process began. The sounds of the large deadbolts magically slamming into place above the doors were loud and jarring, making it hard for Hermione to focus.

"Everyone to the Great Hall," Hermione instructed loudly, ushering lagging students toward the large oak doors.

She did a large sweep of the corridors surrounding the Great Hall, giving brisk and stern instructions to frightened first years and troublesome fifth years.

"I _will_ drag you there by your hair, you senseless imbecile, don't think I won't," came a familiar voice from a corridor to her right.

"Draco!" Hermione cried out, just as Draco emerged from the corridor, a disgruntled third year in a headlock.

"Oh, thank Merlin!" Draco shouted, releasing the grumpy student to pull her tightly against his chest. His heart drummed against her cheek. "I thought I'd lost you for good. When they brought out the stretcher, I thought - "

"No, I'm fine," Hermione said quickly.

"No you aren't," Draco insisted, gripping her tighter. "You can't be. I _know_ you."

"Have you gotten everyone on the first floor?" Hermione asked dutifully, changing the subject.

Frustrated but knowing there wasn't time to argue, Draco nodded.

"I cleared the second floor on my way down from Thorne's office, too," Draco stated. "The professors that aren't House Heads are taking care of the other corridors. We're to report back to the Great Hall for roll call and stay there until further instruction."

Together they hurried back to the Great Hall and much to their dissatisfaction were then separated into their houses. After Hermione's name had been checked off, she found a spot on the Gryffindor table and rested her head in her hands, urging herself not to panic.

"Rough day?"

Hermione turned just in time to see Pansy Parkinson slip into the spot next to her. Several Gryffindors glared at the intruding Slytherin, but Pansy's focus was on Hermione.

"That's the understatement of the century," Hermione replied sourly. "How could I have let this happen?"

"This isn't your fault, Granger," Pansy stated, stroking her back.

"It is!" Hermione bellowed suddenly. "If I had reported what I'd heard her and Pieter discussing that night in the music room, or even that night when Romilda attacked me, we wouldn't be in this position and she would still be alive."

"Someone would have killed her," Pansy grumbled and Hermione shot her a glare. "What? Too soon?"

"How are you so calm?" Hermione snapped. "Isn't this doing anything to you?"

"Of course it is," Pansy said. "But someone's got to keep their head on straight, unlike you Miss Head Girl."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "You're right. I need to remain calm. If I'm calm, the students will be calm."

"Whatever keeps you from completely losing it, princess," Pansy said, clapping her on the back.

As Hermione stared around the frantic Great Hall, she was eerily reminded of third year when they were forced to sleep in the Great Hall while they searched for Sirius Black. Except this time, they didn't know who they were looking for.

"Where _is_ Kartrick?" Pansy wondered, as if reading Hermione's brain.

"I haven't seen him," Hermione replied, scanning the hall.

Her eyes fell upon Draco who seemed occupied with calming a hysterical first year.

"What the hell is _she_ doing over here?" muttered a familiar voice from the distance.

Hermione gazed down the table and spotted Ginny, Fay, and Neville all staring down at Hermione and Pansy. Almost instinctually, her eyes soon found Astoria at the Slytherin table, wrapped in worried conversation with Theodore Nott. She was overwhelmed by how much had changed since the beginning of term and momentarily wished that she could speak to Ginny and tell her everything that had happened and why she was so afraid.

"Looks like they called for back-up already. It must be really serious," Pansy noted, staring at the entrance of the Great Hall where there now stood a group of three Aurors.

Slowly, the hours dragged on. Students became more and more anxious. Eventually, dinner was served and the fearful student body began to drown their fears with pumpkin juice and roast. Pansy was forced to retreat back to her table to eat with her house and Hermione picked absently at her red potatoes, her eyes drifting toward Draco. Whenever their eyes locked together, he would half-smile at her, as if to make her feel better, but the smile never reached his eyes. She knew he was wracked with worry, just like she was.

Halfway through dinner, McGonagall finally entered the Great Hall. Behind her followed a line of ministry officials, all dressed head to toe in black robes and expressionless faces. Among them she noticed Harry and nearly jolted out of her seat at the sight of him.

"Gin, Harry's here," stated Neville from several seats down.

Hermione watched as Ginny spun around, her red hair clipping Neville in the eye. Harry and Ginny shared a long look before Harry returned his eyes forward, expressionless. It was then that she noticed Ron emerge from the corridor, taking his spot in the line of ministry officials, closely followed by Meredith. Suddenly, Hermione found it very hard to breathe.

"As many of you know, a student of ours by the name of Romilda Vane was found on the grounds this afternoon and has since been pronounced dead," explained McGonagall, her hands clasped over the podium.

Whispers broke out over the hall, as well as gasps of horror, shouts of confusion and outrage, and sobs.

"It is at this time that I must announce that Hogwarts is under lockdown," explained McGonagall, her hands clasped over her podium. "The Ministry has been called in and a full investigation is underway. No one is to go anywhere without another person or teacher for the remainder of the night. We will have teachers and ministry officials patrolling every corridor. Anyone caught without an escort will be punished. Immediately following dinner, the Head of House will escort their houses back to their dorms where an immediate curfew will be put in place."

"Must be serious," gossiped a girl next to Hermione.

"Of course it is serious, you dimwit," snapped a boy next to her. "The bloody Ministry of Magic wouldn't be here and Hogwarts wouldn't be under lockdown if it wasn't serious. That Vane girl must have been murdered or something."

"You don't really think someone was _murdered_, do you, John?" gasped the girl.

Suddenly, Hermione felt very dizzy despite the fact that she was sitting down. Even when she closed her eyes, the entire room seemed to spin around her, disorienting her. After several seconds, the Great Hall slowly stopped spinning, instead leaving Hermione feeling incredibly nauseous. She sucked in a raspy breath and, noticing that her mouth had become incredibly dry, downed the rest of her pumpking juice.

"We have contacted Miss Vane's family and the funeral for Romilda will be held here at Hogwarts. Classes will be disbanded for that day. We ask that any of you that may have knowledge regarding Miss Vane's death to come forward. Until then, all Hogsmeade trips are hereby suspended until further notice and no one will be permitted to leave the grounds at any point."

Lacking the appetite to finish her meal, Hermione slid her plate away from her and found Draco's eyes once more. After dinner, Hermione joined the mesh of students in a line following after their Head of House. Suddenly, Hermione felt a jerk on her arm and was pulled from the line of students. Panic jumbled around her veins and she struggled in protest, reaching for her wand.

"Hermione, calm down," grunted a familiar voice, struggling to keep her flailing arms at her side and away from his face. "It's me."

Hermione stared up at Harry, relieved and slightly anxious at his presence.

"Harry," she greeted uncertainly. Part of her wished he would hug her, apologize for what happened over Christmas and that would be the end of it, but another part of her knew he did not come here tonight to make amends of any sort.

Harry's face was grim and tired and she couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his head.

"We need to talk," Harry said tightly.

"I can't," Hermione argued, gesturing to the line of students trudging upstairs. "I've got to report for roll call in a few minutes before I can go back to the Head dorms, if they'll even let me stay in my own dormitory tonight."

"Never mind all that," Harry insisted. "We've taken care of it. You need to come with me."

"Why? What's going on?" Hermione demanded as Harry steered her down the hall.

"I have orders to bring you to McGonagall's office," Harry replied stiffly and glanced over his shoulder.

"Wait a minute," Hermione said, tripping as she tried to pull away from Harry and his grip remained tightly locked around her bicep. "Why does McGonagall want to see me? And why are you being ordered to deliver me to her like some kind of package?"

"I just know my orders are to bring you to McGonagall," Harry answered and gripped her harder.

She followed Harry up the stairs to the Headmistress's office. Hermione could hear distant voices from inside the office as they ascended the stairs.

"Understand, Perkins, that our wards are very weak since the fall of our school in May and despite our best efforts to restore them to full capacity, our resources are few due to the lack of economy since the war."

"We understand that, Minerva. There's no reason to believe that the murder of Romilda Vane is connected to the threats we've been receiving about Dark activity in the area but we have to be cautious. Extra security wards are being placed throughout the grounds and we will be scouting the area. For all we know it is just a hoax."

"Yes, well the fate of one of my students was not a hoax, unfortunately. Have you received any more updates on - "

Harry interrupted their muffled conversation with a fierce rap of his knuckles on the wooden frame.

"Ah, that must be Potter," said McGonagall. "Come in."

The door swung open and Harry gently urged Hermione into the familiar office.

"Good evening, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall greeted. "Please take a seat, Miss Granger."

Hermione gave the aging woman a swift nod and deposited herself into a nearby chair. Standing next to McGonagall was a tall man with a curtain of black hair, bulging muscles, strong jaw, and crooked nose. He surveyed Hermione closely, squinting at her as his eyes roved up and down her body.

"That will be all, Potter," said the black haired man briskly, his eyes still focused at Hermione.

Hermione glanced quickly at Harry. He returned her gaze, concern and confusion etched upon his features. He gave a nod toward the black haired man and slowly stepped outside the office, closing the door behind him.

"What's this all about, exactly?" Hermione questioned, puzzled.

"Hermione Granger, my name is Rufus Perkins. I work for the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I would like to ask you a few questions."

Hermione bit her lip. "Questions about what?"

"Could you tell me your whereabouts today?" Perkins inquired, side-stepping Hermione's inquiry.

"My whereabouts? Well, I was here in the castle this morning until about eleven when I went to Hogsmeade," Hermione replied uncertainly, shooting a confused look toward McGonagall who sat with her lips pursed and hands clasped.

"And when did you return to the castle?" asked Perkins, jotting down something on a notepad.

"I'm not quite sure exactly. I wasn't carrying a watch," Hermione responded.

"If you could give me an estimate," prompted Perkins and Hermione found her eyebrows pulling together.

"I would guess around four in the afternoon," Hermione finally said. "Why is this important?"

"Please, Miss Granger, stay on topic," Perkins said swiftly, his quill scratching loudly on his notepad. "Was there anyone with you that could verify your statement?"

"Yes," Hermione continued hesitantly. "I was with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini all day."

Perkins paused and jotted down their names and McGonagall gave a surprised cough.

"Just a few more questions, if you will, Miss Granger," Perkins continued. "How well did you know Romilda Vane?"

Eyes narrowing, Hermione looked once more to McGonagall.

"Professor, what is this about?" Hermione asked quietly and McGonagall gave a large sigh, opening her mouth to respond.

"Headmistress McGonagall is here as a witness to supervise this little meeting of ours, as is policy in any investigation regarding a student."

"Thank you, Perkins, but I can speak for myself," McGonagall snapped, appearing quite on edge with his presence. "And as for this little meeting, don't you think you've gotten enough information for one night? My students have been through quite a lot."

Hermione's heartbeat sped up quickly in her chest as Perkins lifted a finger to silence McGonagall.

"Not quite. I still have a few more questions for Miss Granger regarding the matter at hand."

"Do you mean to tell me that I'm to be _interrogated? _This can't be very legal."

"Interrogation is not a word I would wish to use - far too harsh for my liking," Perkins clarified. "And if it weren't allowed, we would surely not be having this conversation. You see, I'm just asking some questions in order to get to the bottom of this situation. Does that make you nervous, me asking so many questions?"

"I'm sorry but I just don't see why _I'm_ here," Hermione stated, blatantly ignoring his jibes and crossing her arms across her chest. "I hardly talked to Romilda Vane. She was a prefect under my charge and I saw her only for prefect meetings, classes, and in passing. Shouldn't you be speaking to someone who knows her a little bit better, like Gina Hayford? She was her best friend. Or Pieter Kartrick, for that matter. If anyone should be in this room, it should be him."

"_Knew_ her, Miss Granger. The victim is deceased. However, it is interesting that you would bring Pieter Kartrick into this conversation," Perkins mused, scratching more information onto his notepad. "You see, we've already spoken to Miss Hayford and Mr. Kartrick. And an interesting thing is that they both brought you up."

Hermione blanched.

"Both brought up the fact that apparently Miss Vane and yourself did not get along and shared an intense dislike for each other and that you and your friends often bullied Romilda."

Hermione scoffed. "That's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard. If anyone was the bully it was Romilda!"

"So you admit there was some tension between you and Miss Vane?"

"I said no such thing and as I recall I already told you that I hardly knew Romilda except in passing," Hermione reminded him stiffly, glaring up at the dark haired man.

From her seat across the desk, McGonagall smirked. Mildly irritated, Perkins shifted away from behind McGonagall's desk and circled over toward Hermione.

"Painful looking wound you've got there," Perkins noted, squinting at the bandage on Hermione's neck and the bruising that had formed around it. "Looks fresh."

Hermione swallowed as Perkins inspected her arms where the almost healed residue of Romilda's scratch marks barely showed.

"Looks like you were in quite the scuffle," Perkins continued. "Pretty recent, too. Perhaps, last night?"

Hermione remained silent and Perkins smirked in appreciation.

"Have you ever considered a job in Law Enforcement, Miss Granger?" Perkins wondered and when Hermione refused to respond, he laughed. "Oh, how serious you are. Tell me, Miss Granger, where were you last night around eleven in the evening?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't see how this is necessary," McGonagall interrupted. "She was quite obviously in her dormitory, just like everyone else."

Hermione shifted. "Actually, Professor, Draco and I were going to talk to you about that - "

Perkins made a satisfactory noise and scribbled something down on his pad.

"What are you talking about, Miss Granger?" whispered McGonagall shrewdly.

"Draco and I were running a tad bit behind schedule last night which is why we didn't file a report in your box about our rounds."

"And why, pray tell, were you running so late?" McGonagall said sternly.

"We got held up by some students out of curfew," Hermione lied easily, her mind roaming back to the Room of Requirement, "and by the time we made it to the last part of our rounds, we noticed Pieter Kartrick."

McGonagall blinked. "Mr. Katrick?"

"Yes, Draco said he saw Pieter go off toward the Gryffindor dormitories but when we went outside to finish our rounds, we noticed him lurking around the lake. He then went into the Forbidden Forest, where we lost him."

Hermione swallowed.

"Except that isn't all that happened, is it, Miss Granger?"

Perkins glared down at her.

"I'm not quite sure I know what you mean," Hermione replied.

"You see, Miss Granger, when given the medical report on the body this evening, it was recorded that Miss Vane had sustained multiple injuries, not recent enough to have been caused during her death but recent enough for them to have been sustained relatively close to that time, between the hours of ten in the evening last night and seven in the morning. Several fractured bones in the right hand, a bite between the thumb and index finger, and a broken nose."

Hermione swallowed, feeling suddenly dizzy and dehydrated again, except this time it enveloped her more quickly and potently than it had in the Great Hall and did not dissipate.

"And what's even more interesting is when our forensics team came in, they found some DNA under Romilda's fingernails as well as soil and inside her cheeks, connecting you to the scene, and putting you both in the Forbidden Forest. See, my guess is that sometime after eleven while you were outside following Pieter, you came across Romilda. Thinking they were outside to meet up with each other and in a jealous rage, you attacked her and she had no choice but to defend herself. And that's how you got that lovely wound on your neck and those marks on your arm."

Hermione choked.

"Certainly this can't be - " McGonagall gasped.

"_No_!" Hermione shouted desperately. "She attacked _me!"_

"Can anyone else verify this?" Perkins wondered.

"Yes! Draco Malfoy," Hermione snapped. "Remember? I was outside with _him._ We were doing _rounds_. Pieter and Romilda were outside after _curfew_."

"And did Mr. Malfoy actually witness Miss Vane attack you?"

"Well, no," Hermione stammered. "He heard other students and went to tell them it was after curfew and I continued to look for Pieter."

"Ah, so no one can actually say who attacked who," Perkins said and Hermione gave a strangled hiss.

"I didn't attack her!" she insisted. "I was waiting for Draco to come back and Pieter was long gone and Romilda Vane came into the clearing I was in. She had this blank expression about her and was saying absurd things. Next thing I know she's attacking me. I was the one that had to defend myself. She tried to _kill_ me!"

Perkins arched an eyebrow. "Yet she did not succeed, it seems."

"Keen perception you've got," Hermione retorted hotly. "And no, she didn't succeed, because Draco, Blaise, and Pansy - the two students who Draco went to talk to about being out past curfew - came to my aid. They all saw Romilda attacking me and Pansy stunned her. Draco and Blaise helped Romilda up to the castle and then Romilda woke up. She had no memory of anything that had happened or how she had even gotten outside. She told us that the last thing she remembered was being in the library, waiting, and then everything went dark. She was obviously under the influence of the _Imperius _curse."

"And how would you know that?" asked Perkins.

"I've seen it before, and you should know that as well, sir. If your forensics and medical team had in fact surveyed her body, they would have come across dark magic residue from an Unforgivable."

"You are full of knowledge, aren't you?" Perkins commented, eyeing her closely. "How am I to know you were not the one that cast the _Imperius_ curse on Romilda Vane?"

Hermione glared at him.

"And after that, what happened?" McGonagall pressed.

"She kept saying 'he did this, didn't he?' and she eventually ran off into the castle."

"If this is true, why did you not report this to a teacher?"

"Draco and I thought it would be best to speak to McGonagall tonight about it when we met with her for our monthly Head meeting, but _obviously_ that didn't happen because of the lockdown. We knew it was important to report it, but we didn't think anything like this could possibly happen…" Hermione trailed off and stared down at her feet, feeling bile fighting its way to her esophagus. She turned toward McGonagall. "I'm so sorry, Professor. I take full responsibility for my actions and for not coming to you right away. We should have, or this might never have happened."

Mcgonagall nodded, silently disclosing that she understood but she was very much in the wrong.

"We will need to discuss this with your friends, check their stories to see if they match yours."

"They will," Hermione stated boldly. "Can I go now?"

"Not quite," Perkins said and turned to McGonagall. "The letter, please, Minerva? When preparing the body, the medics found a piece of paper which was immediately collected for evidence purposes and given to our MLE squad along with her robes. Does it look familiar to you?"

Hermione shook her head and then blanched as McGonagall passed over a thin piece of paper.

Blue.

Like the admirer notes.

"Go ahead and take a look at it," Perkins instructed, passing Hermione the paper.

_If you know what is best for you, you will stay out of my business and away from Hermione Granger._

Red ink.

"When Miss Hayford found Romilda Vane by the lake, she was still alive, but only just," said Perkins and Hermione began to shake, realizing that he was about to tell her something that she did not want to hear. "She had been bound, silenced, and injured fatally by a severing spell across her chest, wrists, and abdomen. If Miss Hayford had not come when she had, she would have been dead before Miss Hayford could get to her. The interesting thing is, Miss Hayford was to meet Romilda by the lake that day. According to Miss Hayford, Romilda had seemed on edge, urgent, terrified. She begged her to come so that she could tell her everything. You see, according to Miss Hayford, she had fallen out of contact with her friend over the months since she had started dating Pieter Kartrick, as most girls will do when they get a boyfriend. However, Romilda did not seem to just want to catch up. She claimed she was scared for her life and hadn't known what she was getting into and that she really needed her best friend. She needed to come clean."

Perkins paused, evaluating Hermione's expression.

"She lived long enough to see her friend before she died in her arms."

Hermione gulped, trying to force her hands to stop shaking.

"Am I a suspect?" Hermione asked bluntly.

"You are," Perkins told her and Hermione nodded, accepting the blow of his honesty. "However, due to the threatening nature of this note, it could also be a sign that you may be in danger."

Suddenly, the room began to spin. Nausea unlike anything she'd experienced before surged through her like a wave. Her hands began to shake powerfully. Her mouth became very dry, so dry she could barely swallow. She gripped her aching head and sucked in deep breaths.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" McGonagall questioned, alarmed by her sudden change in behavior.

Hermione shook her head and rasped, "I don't feel very well."

"Okay, I think we've had enough questions for tonight," McGonagall stated, concluding their meeting. "It's been a long day, you need to get rest."

"I'm not quite done, Headmistress," Perkins protested.

"With all due respect, Perkins, whether you are done or not is of no concern of mine. This meeting is done and Miss Granger will return to her dormitory."

"Very well," Perkins agreed, visibly disgruntled. "I'll escort you to your dormitory, Miss Granger."

Hermione felt too ill to argue and followed Perkins from McGonagall's office.

The staircase took quite some time to descend; every step seemed to jump out from under her and leave her feeling wobbly and disjointed.

"Impeccable timing you have, Miss Granger," Perkins mused, observing her. "Falling ill at such an appropriate time."

Hermione felt too ill to defend herself and so she ignored his attempts to get her riled up.

"Potter," Perkins drawled as they reached the main floor. "You're supposed to be making rounds with Meredith."

At the mention of Ron's fiancé, Hermione seemed to buckle forward, swaying uncertainly.

"Meredith and I finished our rounds a few minutes ago and I'm on break now. If you don't mind, I'd like to have a moment with Hermione."

"I do mind, Potter," Perkins grunted. "Miss Granger is out past curfew and needs to be escorted back to her dormitory immediately. She has no time for conversation."

"Of course, I'm actually headed that way anyway," Harry said smoothly. "And aren't you supposed to be making rounds in the dungeons with Lancaster right now?"

"I'm in charge of escorting the girl to her dormitory. I still have some questions that we didn't get to discuss in our meeting - "

"Oh, but Perkins, you of all people should know that questioning a student on school grounds about a case that they are involved in without the school's appointed superior is illegal. Doing so could get you suspended. It would be a shame if I were to report you to Robards for being outside your post and for questioning a student inappropriately."

If Hermione could feel her lips, she imagined she would have smiled.

"Very well," Perkins snapped and released Hermione into Harry's charge before stamping away like an angry child toward the dungeons.

Once they were out of earshot, Harry immediately seized Hermione, shaking her.

"Are you alright? You look like death," he said, strangely panicked. "What happened in there?"

Hermione tried to swallow, noting how dry her lips felt, and then coughed harshly, gagging.

"I don't feel good," she whispered. "My body hurts."

Harry stroked her arm, leading her up the Grand Staircase.

"It's probably a reaction to the stress," Harry said. "Perkins can be a bit of a pain in the arse. Speaking of Perkins, what the hell did he want with you? You were in there for a very long time. Once I finished my rounds I made sure to come back and find you. I thought it was just procedure and they were calling in the Head Girl and Boy to inform them on what was happening, but when you didn't come back out, I realized they were doing more than just informing you as Head Girl."

Hermione sighed, clutching her head. "Harry, please, I'm really not feeling up to this."

"Hermione, what's going on?" Harry insisted, ignoring her plea. "You have a friend in me. If you're in some kind of trouble, you need to tell me so that I can help you. Perkins is a highly trained examiner and he will stop at nothing to get the answers he wants and break you. How are you involved in this?"

Hermione staggered away from Harry.

"What? What is it?"

Hermione stared at him in horror, tremors cycling through her body. "You said he's an examiner."

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes, he is. He's the Head of Interrogations. I thought you knew that? What's wrong?"

_"Tie her hands behind the back of that chair, there. I will do the rest. You will wait outside as a lookout. When the examiner comes, let him pass."_

The memory stirred like a blackened plague inside the deepest recess of her mind.

"Nothing," she hissed as he reached for her.

"Hermione, I realize we didn't leave off on the right foot last time we saw each other, but - "

"Harry, I really don't feel well. I'm going to make a pitstop in the Prefects bathroom and wash up."

"Hermione, I need to get you back to your dorm."

"Harry, I'm a big girl. I'm also Head Girl, and I've just spent less than an hour being interrogated by your idiot supervisor when I could have been taking a nice bath and resting. I haven't been able to take a single bloody minute for myself since Hogsmeade, and I rather don't feel well. So unless you prefer me puking on your shoes, I'm going to freshen up a bit and possibly go throw up. I'll be all of fifteen minutes."

"Hermione - "

"Potter! I've been looking everywhere for you," came a shout from the end of the fifth floor corridor.

A gangly man with ash blonde hair and wide blue eyes that reminded her distantly of the Creevey boys by the innocent aura he held, came to stand in front of them.

"Simpson," Harry greeted.

"You and Weasley are supposed to be patrolling. He sent me to fetch you."

"Lazy git," Harry griped. "I can't; I've got to escort Hermione to the Head dorm and it may be a while. She's not feeling very good and has to go to the loo."

"Well, I'm on break on now," Simpson stated. "I can stand watch while she's in there and then escort her to her dormitory. In fact, I'd prefer her company over Weasley's ornery attitude any day."

"I don't know - " Harry started to protest.

"Harry, I'll be fine," Hermione declared. "Simpson seems fully capable of watching a hallway."

Harry sighed and then nodded, knowing he had obligations to fulfill.

"Alright," Harry said. "Simpson, you come tell me once you've dropped Hermione off."

"Of course, sir."

After another pause of hesitance, Harry took off toward the stairs.

"I'll probably be a few minutes," Hermione explained to Simpson, clutching her stomach. "Something I ate must not be agreeing with me. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Simpson nodded, his shaggy blond hair bobbing up and down over his eyes, in obvious need of a haircut.

As Simpson turned his back to gaze among the paintings, Hermione murmured the password to the Prefects bathroom and sauntered inside. Stumbling over to the mirror, Hermione gripped the sides of a sink basin and sucked in a deep breath, trying to fight down the urge to vomit. She turned on the faucet and it dribbled out, tapping rhythmically onto the drain. Stretching out a trembling hand, she cupped the drops of moisture in her hand and shakily lifted it to her lips. The water seemed to burn as it entered her throat and she coughed hard, gasping as if her airway had shut off. When she bowed her head, her eyes fell upon the sink and she recoiled at the sight. Dark red dots littered the sink, mixing into the water and swirling down the drain.

Hermione dared a glance up at the mirror and noticed a line of red liquid trickling down the side of her mouth toward her chin. Hastily she dabbed at it with a paper towel and began to shake as if she were standing in the snow with nothing on. Turning off the tap, she gazed at the large tub in the middle of the room. Figuring she still had a few minutes, she began to run the bath water. Foamy soaps and shampoos of all different colors seeped into the water, quickly filling up of the large basin. Perching on the edge of the tub, Hermione slowly peeled off her tights and sweater. As she removed her clothing she dipped her feet into the welcoming warmth and eased herself into the tub.

As her muscles began to relax, Hermione closed her eyes, suddenly feeling extremely fatigued. Hermione distantly heard a large thump on the door. It was soon followed by a louder, harsher thump.

"I'll only be a few more minutes," Hermione called hoarsely, annoyed with Simpson's impatient knocking.

It became very difficult for Hermione to keep her eyes open. Distantly, she thought she heard a creaking noise and figured Simpson had begun to pace outside. Soon, the heat of the water began to intensify and Hermione began to grow uncomfortably light headed. Wanting to avoid heat stroke, Hermione slowly opened her eyes. Everything was spinning slowly and was unfocused. She shook her head lightly, blinking. As her vision began to clear, Hermione hoisted herself up from the steaming water, tying a towel from the nearby towel rack around her body.

She reached down for her clothes when suddenly she noticed a trickling sound and zeroed in on the sink. Water was gushing from the sink's faucet at full stream. She blinked slowly. She had been certain she had only had the faucet on its lowest intensity. And hadn't she turned it off before her bath? Towel still secured around her, Hermione stepped toward the sink and turned the knob, switching off the faucet.

Returning to her clothes, Hermione noticed she hadn't let out the bath water. She reached for the knobs when suddenly she heard a sound from behind her.

_Drip. Drip. _

_Drip._

_Drip. Drip. Drip. _

_Drip._

Turning slowly, she noticed that the faucet had turned back on. Too dizzy to walk toward the sink again, she reached for her pile of clothes in search of her wand. Strangely, it was nowhere to be found. The more confused she became, the harder it was for her to think straight and the more her vision blurred.

_Creak._

Hermione froze. The sound came from directly in front of her, from the toilet stalls.

"Is anyone there?" Hermione called, noticing the two closed stalls at the end of the row.

_Creak._

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

Hermione turned her head slowly toward the sinks and in horror, realized that all three sinks' faucets were on. As if someone had just turned them on.

If she hadn't felt so vulnerable and sickly, she would have called out again. Instead she staggered hastily toward the door, her heart thudding in her chest. To her horror, Hermione realized the door had been locked.

She was certain she hadn't locked the door, only assuming she would be in there for a few minutes. Whimpering slightly, Hermione tried the door again but it did not budge. She turned round to inspect the bathroom for her wand but it was nowhere to be found.

_Creeaak. _

Hermione trembled, panic rippling through her already uneasy stomach. Bile convulsed toward her throat. Slowly, she followed the sound and her eyes landed on the bathroom stall at the very end of the row and watched as it slowly folded backward, opening.

Watched as two dark dress shoes emerged from the shadows, half hidden by a long black robe.

She stumbled back in fright, the back of her head connecting with the door.

"Don't come any closer!" she squeaked. "I will - "

Her threat lost formation as the robed figure cocked its head to the side and brandished a familiar wand.

Her wand.

_Snap._

Her wand clattered to the tile in a broken mess.

_Tap. _

One foot stepped forward.

_Tap. _

The other soon followed.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. _

The pace picked up. Hermione screamed.

"_Simpson!_" she cried, throwing herself at the door, jiggling the knob desperately, flattening her palms against the wood and beating against the door.

Something caught her wet hair and yanked her head back, hard. Before she could process what was happening, her forehead smashed into the doorframe. Black dotted her vision and she cried out, aware of the hysterical noises vomiting from her throat.

Suddenly she could not breathe. Something engulfed her nose and mouth, muffling her screams. As she gasped, panicking and flailing her arms at her attacker, she began to smell a harsh and sickly sweet ether-like scent.

It burned up into her nose, down her throat.

Choking.

Gasping.

It was hard to see.

She felt weak.

_"Silencio." _

Screaming, crying, begging.

No sound.

Nails on skin.

Hard, unforgiving tile.

Ribs shattering.

Lips bust open.

Swirling.

_"Crucio!"_

Bracing.

Flailing.

Ripping.

Tearing.

Convulsing.

Dying.

"_You_ did this, you stupid _bitch_."

Crack.

Blood seeping.

Stark white and crimson red.

Splash.

Gurgling.

Gasping.

Rushing into lungs.

No air.

Drowning.

Falling.

…black.


	29. Undone

_**Alexandrite ©**_

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter. This is purely for entertainment purposes.<p>

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the reviews. It means a great deal to me to hear from all of you. I'm sorry for the awful cliff hanger I left you in the previous chapter, but I'm hoping you'll forgive me and enjoy this chapter.

Enjoy!

-Annie.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Eight<em>

_Undone_

* * *

><p><em>Your eyes, they shine so bright<br>I wanna save that light  
>I can't escape this now<br>Unless you show me how_

_When you feel my heat_  
><em>Look into my eyes<em>  
><em>It's where my demons hide<em>  
><em>Don't get too close<em>  
><em>It's dark inside<em>  
><em>It's where my demons hide<em>

_"Demons"—Imagine Dragons_

* * *

><p>She didn't look right.<p>

Her bottom lip, a bright juicy red in contrast to her gray skin, trembled. It was like looking at an oil painting, all charcoals and smoke, a flicker of fire.

It was only then that he noticed the deep red burns along her wrists, chafed by the ropes secured tightly around them, forcing her shoulder blades and elbows back at the most uncomfortable angle so that she winced every time she moved.

He gazed at her, brows furrowing. She was different.

No longer was the poised, witty, fiery girl she once was. Warmth no longer emitted from her brown orbs, leaving them a dull muddy color.

She looked dead.

He took a step toward her and her head shot up, her eyes narrowing in on him, alight with fear.

"It's just me," Draco comforted, taking another step. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm going to get you out of here."

She whimpered, shaking her head.

"It's too late," she whispered hoarsely, coughing.

Slowly, she began to bleed from her nose. He watched uncomfortably as it trickled down to her lip.

"It's never too late," Draco said. "I can get you out."

"I'm going to die, Draco," Hermione gasped. "He'll kill me. I'm going to drown."

He stood in horror as she began to cough up liquid. Soapy, foamy liquid, like bath water.

"You're almost mine now."

Draco turned slowly, only then noticing the other presence in the room. The voice seemed familiar, dark and low. He came from the shadows, cloaked in black with a hood covering his face.

"Who are you?" Draco demanded.

"Mmm, my dear Mudblood. Your time is so near."

As the man in the robe reached for Hermione's neck, Draco flung toward him, wedging himself between her and the figure. He lunged at him, flinging back the figure's hood and it fell back, revealing his face.

Draco shot upright, heart in his throat. The ring on his finger hissed into his skin, a bright burning crimson. He blinked blearily at his surroundings, noticing that he'd fallen asleep on the sofa in the common room while waiting for Hermione. Raking a hand through his blond hair, he stood from the couch, still shaky as the remnants of his dream danced around his head. He had seen the perpetrator's face, he had been so sure of it, and yet he could not remember.

Glancing at his watch, he remembered Hermione and faintly wondered why she had not woken him when she came in. After the day they'd had and the events that had transpired, he assumed she would have wanted to talk to him.

"Hermione?" he called tentatively.

If she was asleep, he didn't want to wake her, but he had to make sure she was okay. Ignoring the throbbing from his ring finger, he took the stairs two at a time and paused in front of her door.

He swallowed, noticing her door was ajar. He knocked softly as he entered the dark room, squinting. Her bed lay untouched, the duvet pulled back. He stole to the foot of her bed where her pajamas lay strewn over her trunk.

She hadn't come back to the common room.

Fear gripping his throat like a noose, Draco stole from her bedroom and launched himself off the steps. It was a little over half past ten, her extended curfew officially over as of three minutes ago. She never missed curfew, unless it was his fault.

Once again, the ring hissed upon his finger and Draco began to tremble.

Throwing open the portrait hole, Draco slammed face forward into something hard and boney.

"What the hell?" he snarled, rubbing his offended nose and stepping back.

"Er, evening Malfoy," Harry Potter grunted, lowering his fist. Beside him stood Ron Weasley, his face etched in obvious disgust. "I was just about to knock."

Draco let out a brisk huff and grabbed Harry fiercely by the robes. "Listen, Potter, I don't have time to chat. Where is she?"

Harry stared at him, hard, immediately knowing who he was talking about. "She isn't here?"

Draco's chest clenched. "No, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be asking you where she was, would I?"

Suddenly, Harry shoved Draco hard into the wall. "Don't mess with me, Malfoy. Not about this."

In response, Draco hurled Harry off of him, sending him roughly into Ron Weasley's torso. "Hermione hasn't been here all day. I've waited all night for her and her curfew ended five minutes ago."

At the mention of Hermione's name, Ron tensed, glaring at him suspiciously.

"Something's wrong," Harry said suddenly, sharing a worried glance with Ron. "She should have been back by now. A colleague of mine should have dropped her off here."

Draco hissed. "Obviously, he didn't."

"When I didn't hear back from Simpson, I thought he just forgot like he usually does and came to check on her myself," Harry explained to Ron, trailing off. "But if she's not back..."

"Potter, listen, something's wrong," Draco pressed urgently. "We have to find her. She's in danger."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What do you know, Malfoy?"

"He's lying." Ron sneered down at him. "Using her as an excuse to be out past curfew, I'll bet. Maybe he's the one that murdered Romilda Vane."

"Don't be stupid, you oaf," Draco grated and turned back toward Harry. "There's no time to explain. Where's the last place you saw her?"

"Prefect's bathroom," Harry responded. "I was escorting her back to her dorm after her meeting with McGonagall but she wasn't feeling well and I had to start my rounds, so Simpson - the colleague - took over for me."

Draco took off at a sprint. Harry matched his pace easily and Ron followed suit. When they reached the fifth floor and turned the corner to the corridor of the prefects bathroom, Draco came to a halting stop.

Up ahead, a figure lay on the ground in a heap.

"Simpson!" Harry hollered, dropping to his knees. Beside Draco, Ron had removed his wand from his robe, standing alert.

Simpson looked to be regaining consciousness. He had a nasty bruise forming on his temple.

"What the hell happened?" Harry demanded.

Simpson sputtered incoherently, pointing off toward the end of the corridor. "He…ran… that… way…"

Harry gave Ron a curt nod and the red head took off down the corridor.

"Where's Hermione?" Draco shouted, grabbing the Auror's robes.

"Draco," hissed Harry, gesturing in front of him.

The portrait was ripped to pieces, revealing the door that stood behind it. He tried the doorknob.

"It's locked," he said, pointing his wand at the lock. He tried it again but it still wouldn't budge. "Jammed."

Draco snarled, whipping his wand through the air. The door flew off of its hinges, shattering forward.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy!" Harry roared.

Draco shot into the bathroom. The lights had been extinguished, so Draco, Simpson, and Harry lit their wands. Harry signaled to Simpson to check the stalls up ahead as he inspected the right side of the room. The air still lingered with perfumed soap and steam. He spotted a pile of clothes on the floor. His shoes clicked as he walked toward the pile. Reaching the pile, he noticed something that made him quiver.

Hermione's robes.

Ripped into shreds.

He stumbled backward, splashing into something murky. Glancing down, he noticed he was standing in a think liquid substance. Bringing his wand down to his shoes, he stared down at the dark crimson seeping into the tile and a strange noise escaped his throat.

"Potter," he rasped, beckoning the black haired man to his side.

Swallowing harshly, he noticed a dark pattern on the tile reaching forward. Bloody fingerprints, streaking across the floor as if someone had been dragged. The streak of blood disappeared into the bath basin.

Against his better judgement, Draco launched himself into the water, reactive and emotional. The water was still somewhat warm and tinged pink. He dove down blindly, sputtering as his fingers grasped hair, becoming entangled in familiar dark tresses. Choking and railing, he yanked on the hair until he found skin. Shoulders. He tugged.

"_Help!"_ Draco shrieked, grasping her torso. "Grab her!"

Simpson and Harry sank to their knees, reaching to steady him as he hoisted her body out of the frothy water. A muffled, strangled noise ripped through Harry's throat as he threw back her hair from her face.

"No," Draco gasped, shaking heavily despite the heat from his drenched robes. "She's… no. Tell me she's not…"

"Simpson, get McGonagall. Tell her another student's been attacked," Harry instructed, his voice rough.

Draco watched in stunned silence as Harry administered CPR, evacuating her lungs. She gasped and spluttered, gagging and retching. He turned her onto her side as she vomited water and a thick foamy white substance and began to shake uncontrollably.

"She's having a seizure," Harry said, whipping off his belt and shoving it into Hermione's mouth so that she wouldn't bite off her tongue. "We have to get her to Madame Promfrey, _now_. We can't levitate her, you're going to have to carry her."

Draco unclasped his robe and wrapped it around Hermione's nude body, hoisting her up into his arms without a second thought, and together they hurried to the hospital wing.

* * *

><p>"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, we have all we need. You are free to go."<p>

Draco flexed his stiff fingers, detaching them from the arms of the wooden chair. Perkins regarded him carefully as he stood.

Remaining expressionless, Draco departed McGonagall's office, checking the time. Half-past seven. Visiting hours would be up soon. He hadn't seen Hermione since last night when he'd been hastily removed against his will from the hospital wing after rushing Hermione to Madame Promfrey and forced back to his dormitory.

"He's a real prat, isn't he?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow as he stepped off the staircase. Blaise and Pansy stood waiting for him.

"You were in there much longer than we were," Pansy observed.

Draco shrugged. "Well, considering I'm the Head Boy and I share a dormitory with the Head Girl, it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"I don't trust him," Blaise said darkly.

"I agree. There's something about him."

"You are not meant to trust 's an interrogator, Panse, it's his job to make you feel uncertain, intimidated," Draco replied. "He's here to shake you up, rattle you, break you. Get you to confess things you wouldn't unless you were under significant pressure. You could be completely innocent and he would find a way to manipulate every word you say into evidence against you. I know his type well. He's not your friend for a reason and he's trained to be that way."

"You headed to the hospital wing?" Blaise inquired and Draco nodded slowly.

"Mind if we accompany you?" Pansy asked, looping her arm around his. He shrugged. "They haven't let any visitors in since the accident."

"It wasn't an accident," Draco said roughly.

They arrived at the hospital wing in silence, apprehensive. The wing was empty except for the bed at the end of the room, obscured by curtains. As they entered the small, sterile room, Draco noticed Madame Promfrey in her office. She was in a deep conversation with none other than Harry Potter.

"I wonder what they're talking about," Blaise mused.

"Hermione, obviously," Pansy said, pushing back the curtain to Hermione bed.

Draco staggered as his eyes fell upon her still frame.

"She looks dead," Pansy gasped.

Deep purple circles framed her closed eyes. Her skin lay ashen and taunt on her cheekbones. She had a deep gash on her forehead that looked to be almost healed and deep bruising around her wrists and neck.

"Looks like they let in a visitor after all," Blaise noticed, gesturing to the bedside table.

On the table sat a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. Draco picked up the book, opening its crisp pages to the intro. Scribbled on the intro page was a note.

_A bit of reading to keep you sane. _

_Wishing you a speedy recovery._

_Dimitri_

"That was sweet of Professor Thorne," Pansy said, reading the message over Draco's shoulder. "I didn't know they were so close."

Clearing his throat, Draco snapped the book shut and threw it on the table.

"It would seem so," he clipped and Pansy stared at him in surprise.

"Don't tell me you're actually jealous of a teacher," she laughed. "He's just being friendly."

Draco ignored her, taking the seat next to Hermione. Gently, he brushed his fingers against her temple and took her cold hand, brushing his lips gingerly against her knuckles.

Someone cleared their throat and Draco dropped Hermione's hand hurriedly, his eyes meeting with a pair of narrow green orbs.

"Malfoy, Parkinson, Zabini," Harry greeted cordially, all business.

"Potter," they said in unison.

"Any news?" Draco asked, nodding in the direction of Madame Promfrey's office.

Harry sighed, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. Placing them back on the perch of his nose, he met Draco's eyes and the expression in them told Draco everything he needed to know.

"How bad is it?" he said, throat tightening.

As if sensing his undoing, Pansy came to his side, taking his clenched fist and entwining her fingers in his, giving him strength.

"She's in a coma," Harry informed them, staring sadly at the pale girl on the bed before him.

Draco felt Pansy's fingers tighten and he gave her hand a squeeze. When he looked up, he saw her indigo eyes brimming with moisture.

"Do you know how long…?" Pansy whispered.

"We have no way of telling," Harry sighed. "It could be hours, days, weeks…"

_Months._

"Are you able to tell us anything about what happened to her?" Blaise asked, his forehead creasing.

"Madame Promfrey told me some very serious and alarming news just now," Harry said in a low voice. "I'm not supposed to divulge this information, but I feel that the more we know, the more we can work together to put the pieces together and catch who did this."

Sharing a silent glance with each other, the three of them nodded at Harry, giving their consent.

"She just got done running diagnostics on Hermione. She found Vociferoum in her blood."

Draco blanched and Blaise hissed.

"What is Vociferoum?" Pansy wondered.

"It is a very, very potent magical opioid. It is often given to patients undergoing severe surgery in wizarding hospitals and can be very damaging if carried in the bloodstream too long or in large quantities. It's very addictive. We are guessing that whoever had access to this stuff got it illegally from a black market or had connections to someone in St. Mungo's."

Blaise raked a hand through his dark hair. "What the hell are we dealing with here?"

"That's not all," Harry continued. "She obviously overdosed on the Vociferoum, but it was thankfully diluted enough that we were able to expel most of it, but it didn't take effect until hours after it entered her system, which can only mean one thing - "

"She ingested it," Blaise finished, gaping at Harry. "But how - ?"

"Madame Promfrey's guess is that the drug was given to her in some kind of substance, whether it be a food or a drink - "

"Oh my_ God,_" Pansy exclaimed suddenly, clutching Blaise. "Oh my _God!_"

Blaise's eyes widened. "Hogsmeade."

Draco stared at them. "What do you mean, Hogsmeade? What happened at Hogsmeade?"

"We were at the Three Broomsticks and she ordered a butter beer. She went to pay for it after we were done, but Rosmerta said it had already been paid for, but she couldn't remember the person who had paid for it because she had been so busy. I told her that there was no way it could have been tampered with because Rosmerta was the one who delivered it and the person had only paid for it."

Draco raked his hands through his hair, pulling at it, feeling as though he might explode. "How _stupid_ could you two have been?"

"We had no idea that anything like that could have happened," Pansy snapped. "And by the time we found out someone had _paid_ for her drink, she had already _drank_ it."

"I'll send Perkins over there immediately to ask Rosmerta some questions."

Harry quickly departed to fetch Perkins and Blaise began to pace. Pansy sunk down at the foot of Hermione's bed, trying hard not to cry.

"Draco, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"None of this is your fault," Draco said. "If anything it's mine. I should have been with her. I never should have left her side."

A movement at the entrance of the hospital wing attracted Draco's attention and he stiffened. In the doorway, obviously having overheard his last statement, stood Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Immediately, Draco felt the air in the room change drastically. The stress seemed to engulf them as the Slytherins tensed and the Gryffindors approached, like two predators, uncertain of the other's motives and protective of their prey.

"Ginny."

The stealthy redhead turned as Harry entered the hospital wing. Immediately, her demeanor changed and her guard was down. She rushed toward him, embracing him tightly.

"I just heard," she said. "I had to come see if she was okay. They said you found her."

Harry's face remained like stone and he nodded. "Draco and I found her in the Prefect's bathroom."

Slowly, Ginny's eyes drifted toward Draco, appraising him.

"She was attacked," Harry said. "She's in a coma."

Ginny's bottom lip began to tremble. Beside her, Neville stared sadly at Hermione.

"Who would want to do this to her, of all people. Why _her_?" Neville wondered.

"Harry, I feel awful," Ginny choked out. "She must have been so afraid. She was all alone."

"I can't believe this," Pansy muttered, rolling her eyes. "_Now_ you care."

"Excuse me?" Ginny snapped, turning on Pansy, eyes flashing.

"I'm sorry, I thought I made myself perfectly clear," Pansy retorted sassily.

"What the hell did you mean by that?" Ginny demanded.

"Ginny," Harry warned.

"Shut up, Harry," Ginny snapped. "I want to hear what she has to say to me."

"I meant what I said, Ginger," Pansy laughed. "I think it's hilarious that the minute something serious happens to her, you suddenly care, but you haven't tried worth a damn to be a part of her life until now."

"I never stopped caring about her!" Ginny shouted.

"That's bullshit," Pansy snarled. "You've been nothing but hateful and rude, and you've made it abundantly clear to all of us how you feel about us and your opinion on her."

Ginny turned as scarlet as her hair.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Ginny spat. "You don't even know her. I've been her friend for more than _six_ years. And you know nothing about the situation or anything about me, so don't you dare stand there and pretend like you have a better relationship with her than I do and that you know _anything_."

"I know that you're an awful friend," Pansy said and Ginny deflated. "I know that you let your prejudice get in the way of your friendship and you turned your back on her when she was at her lowest."

"You haven't seen her at her lowest!" Ginny suddenly roared. "You weren't there when she had nightmares every time she closed her eyes so severe that she didn't sleep for five straight days! You weren't there when she got caught in some frigid memory and broke out in hysterical screams. You weren't there when they brought her back to us half-dead! You weren't the one that had to look into her empty eyes and wonder if she would ever be alive again."

"_Ginny__," _Harry snapped. "Enough."

Surrendering into sobs, Ginny sagged into a nearby chair. Neville went to her side, rubbing her back. Pansy, slack-jawed and speechless, stared at Ginny in wonder.

"Draco, a moment, please," Harry said.

Draco stood on unsteady feet, coming to his former enemy's side.

"What was she talking about?" Draco asked quietly, referring to Ginny's rant.

Harry shook his head.

"It's really not my place to tell you," he said, glancing at Hermione's limp body. "If she hasn't told you, I won't betray her trust like that."

"Potter, I deserve to know at least something," Draco pressed. "You want me to be completely open to you about what's happening to her, but if you aren't honest with me, how am I supposed to trust you? We both care for her deeply and want her safe. You said we had to work together."

Harry regarded him carefully, weighing his words.

"You're right," Harry agreed. "But that will come later. Our first and most important duty right now is her and her safety. I can only protect her if I know what I'm dealing with."

"I already gave my statement to your examiner," Draco grated, tensing. "We all have. How do I know this isn't one of his tricks?"

"Because I'm an Auror," Harry stated simply. "My job is to protect those that need protection. To capture those that incite danger and harm. To track, defend, and defeat. And because I'm your greatest ally here and her friend. I'll do anything to keep her safe, but I can't do that until I know what we are up against."

Draco nodded tightly.

"Is there somewhere we can speak in private?"

"My dorm," Draco offered and Harry nodded his consent. "But Pansy and Blaise should be there."

"No," Harry said.

"You can trust them," Draco said. "They know everything that's been happening and can help, believe me."

After a moment of careful calculation, Harry agreed.

"Ginny and I can help, too," Neville said suddenly.

"You haven't spoken to her in months," Blaise accused.

"Well, before she became friends with you lot, we were there," Neville reminded them. "You forget that we were there when it started happening. If we all put our stories together, we could maybe get to the bottom of this and see if anything matches up."

"He has a point," Pansy chimed and Ginny raised her eyebrows. Pansy shrugged. "Not saying I like it."

"Fine," Draco exhaled. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

><p>When they arrived at the Head dorm, Ron Weasley and a blonde haired woman were waiting, leaning against the wall and engaged in quiet, playful conversation.<p>

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Draco said gruffly, regarding Ron in distaste.

"Language, Malfoy." Ron sneered at him. "There are ladies present."

The female to Ron's side rolled her eyes. "That's never stopped your foul mouth, dear. Don't be a hypocrite."

Draco smirked.

"Got yourself a new girlfriend, Weasel-bee? I quite like her."

"Fiance, actually," corrected the blonde, extending her hand. Draco's eyes widened, noticing the simple diamond on her lowered hand. "Meredith Canterburry."

"Draco Malfoy," he responded, shaking her extended hand. He wondered distantly if Hermione knew about her yet.

"Shall we get started then?" Harry suggested.

"I don't want them here," Draco stated. "It's not their business."

"With all due respect, it is their business," Harry corrected him. "They are Ministry officials, here to get to the bottom of the murder of Romilda Vane. And somehow Hermione is connected to it. So, the more we know, the more likely it is that we catch the person who did this."

"Draco, the more people that know, the more people can protect her," Pansy reasoned with him quietly and Draco sighed, shaking her off.

"Bloody hell, fine," Draco growled, allowing them passage into his dorm. "Let's just get the whole freaking world involved while we're at it."

"Don't be dramatic, mate," Blaise said, shoving him playfully. "We've got a long night ahead of us."

Not wasting any time, they got down to business, taking seats around the common room. Draco began his tale, including everything from his ring to his first encounter with Hermione, all of his dreams. Pansy and Blaise joined in soon after and Ginny and Neville soon followed.

"Really, the last thing I remember that I found concerning was back in October," Neville explained. "I had a free period and was headed outside when I ran into Hermione in the corridor. I was surprised because she never missed class. She looked completely terrified. She told me she had just had a run in with Pieter Kartrick. After what she told me, I was certain Kartrick was the secret admirer, but she wasn't completely convinced. While we were talking, she found another secret admirer note, but this time it was threatening. She passed it off as a harmless prank, but I could tell she was shaken. She wouldn't let me comfort her. When I found out she hadn't told anyone about it, I told her she should tell someone, at least tell Ginny. But she never did. She didn't want anyone worrying over her."

Ginny paled, placing her face in her hands. "She was always trying to be strong for everyone. Why couldn't she have just told me?"

"No one could have known it would ever get this bad," Neville consoled her.

"Why didn't she tell a teacher?" moaned Ginny. "Why didn't _I_ tell a teacher?"

"Because she had to be the one to report him," Pansy said. "If we had reported it, she would have denied it. Always trying to be strong, prove she could handle it on her own. She always wanted to believe the best in everyone, even Kartrick."

"Speaking of teachers, is there any teacher or authority figure Hermione might feel comfortable confiding in or watching over her?" Harry asked.

Ginny blinked. "She always trusted Professor Thorne. They were very close."

"They still are," Pansy agreed. "He came to visit her this morning."

"McGonagall, too, obviously," Draco chimed in.

"This Professor Thorne," Harry continued, crinkling his brow. "What's his first name?"

"Dimitri," Pansy responded.

Harry looked pensive. "Dimitri Thorne?"

"You've heard of him?" Blaise asked, surprised.

"Yes," Harry responded, deep in thought. "Yes, I have. His research is quite famous."

Harry trailed off, staring into the fire, tapping his chin with his index finger.

"What irks me about all of this is how Kartrick is still roaming the halls, as we speak," Blaise said bitterly. "We all know he's responsible for this."

"You have no evidence that he was her attacker or the one that murdered Romilda Vane," Ron said and Blaise glared at him.

"I have all the evidence I need in what I've seen him do to her," Blaise snapped. "He's dangerous. He needs to be locked up. I guarantee if he was in custody, this shit wouldn't keep happening."

"That very well may be true, Zabini, but we can't just arrest a student without hard evidence," Harry pointed out.

"Well, you've got to do _something._ You're the bloody Auror department!" shouted Blaise, losing his temper. "What good are you going to do if you can't lock someone up! I'm sick and tired of that little ponce getting away with everything. I won't stand for it."

"You don't have a choice!" Harry bellowed suddenly, rising to his feet. "You might not like it but we aren't arresting a student just because he has a record of being violent. Will we keep tabs on him? Absolutely. Will he be accompanied by ministry security at all times? You can count on it. Will we continue to question him? I'll make sure of it. But that's all I can guarantee right now."

"This bloody castle isn't safe!" Blaise roared. "She's been _attacked_. She's in a coma, for God's sake. Romilda Vane is _dead_. How much more do you need to understand how serious this is?"

Suddenly, Harry was upon him, grabbing him roughly by the collar. "Don't think for one second, Zabini, that I don't understand how very, _very_ serious this is. If you think for once second I'll let anything happen to her from this moment forward, you are delusional."

Draco sprung to his feet, restraining Blaise before he could do something rash.

"Can we quit throwing knives at each other and get back to Hermione?" Pansy said impatiently.

"God, I'm tired of this," Ron blurted angrily. "Hermione is only half the situation here. We came to gather information on Romilda Vane and her murder, not sit around throwing stories by the firelight about Hermione Granger and some bloody secret admirer notes."

Something in Draco snapped and he let go of Blaise abruptly.

"I'm sorry, Weasley, are we boring you?" Draco laughed darkly. "Is discussing the significance of the woman that rejected your small pea-brain too traumatizing for you?"

Ron simmered.

"Don't you start on me, Malfoy," he grumbled. "Don't you dare."

"I just think it's fascinating," Draco continued starkly, "that you pretend this isn't getting at you at all. Might I remind you that Romilda Vane is dead. Her killer is still out there, in this castle. And Hermione was just attacked and almost killed, very well by the same person that succeeded in offing Romilda. It's hilariously pitiful, this act you've got on, like you don't give two shits what happens to the girl you loved and grossly pined after for years. The girl that decided she didn't want you anymore. The girl that lies in the hospital wing comatose because thick-headed simple-minded trolls like you don't give a damn!"

"I give a damn, you fucking wanker!" roared Ron, jumping to his feet. "I'll give more a damn than you _ever_ will!"

"Oh, that's rich," Draco laughed heartily, fully enjoying this despite how much hatred radiated out of him. "If you think for one second that you and your pathetic, child-like brain could encompass more feeling for her than I could, you truly are the most stupid creature I've ever met."

All at once, Harry and Neville were upon him, restraining him as he bared his teeth at Draco. Draco laughed maniacally.

"It was_ her_ that didn't give a damn!" Ron bellowed fiercely, spit flying and teeth gnashing. "She was the one that gave up on what we had, not me. Not ever me. All she cared about was herself. I _never_ stopped caring! There is no one in this room more upset about this situation than I am."

Suddenly, the room fell silent. Draco glared at Ron in disgust, fire boiling in his veins at the silent confession that lingered in the air.

"Is that true, Ron?" came a soft voice from the edge of the room.

Meredith sat like stone, eyes wide and full of understanding.

"You still love her, don't you?" she gasped.

Ron's head fell and he sighed deeply. Draco felt his stomach crash to the ground. He knew that look. He knew it well.

Because he felt the same way about the same woman.

"Meredith - "

"No!" the blonde woman exclaimed, recoiling from the redhead, tears brimming over. "_No._ All this time, you're still not over her, are you? Is that why you never talk about her? Is that why you proposed to me so soon after you met me? What am I to you? Some sort of rebound? Some distraction to keep you from remembering _her_?"

"No, Mer, it's not like - "

"Go to hell," Meredith snarled, flinging her ring at the tall, gangly Weasley. "I hope you and her are very happy together."

_Over my dead body,_ thought Draco murderously.

The portrait hole slammed behind her.

Bending to retrieve the ring from the carpet, Ron exhaled deeply.

"Good going, Malfoy," Ginny scoffed and then turned to her brother. "Well, don't just stand there, you idiot. Go after her! You'll never find another one that puts up with you that much."

With another murderous glare toward Draco, Ron exited in search of his fiancé.

"I'm done," Draco announced. "I've had enough of you lot. Get out."

With that, he withdrew from the common room, bounding up the stairs. His door slammed with a resounding _slap_ behind him. He tried to calm himself but his emotions were surging through him faster than he could cope.

Fear.

Anger.

Rage.

Panic.

Exhaustion.

"Hermione, what do I do?" he cried, crashing to the floor on his knees. "I can't do this without you. I don't know how to deal with this."

He gazed at the ring on his finger. Faster than lightning, Draco ripped it off, scraping off skin, and threw it at the wall. It collided with the wall with a _clang_ and dropped to the wooden floor where is spun loudly for several seconds before coming to a stop. It blinked at him, cold and green.

It was then he noticed he was not alone.

"Hey, Red," he greeted.

"Hey, yourself, ferret," Ginny shot back, smirking uncertainly.

She dipped down, plucking the ring from the ground.

"What do you want?" he wondered tiredly, too exhausted to be rude.

"To see if you were okay," she responded, shutting the door behind her and coming to sit next to him on the floor.

"You don't care," Draco snorted.

"You're right," she admitted. "But Hermione would care."

Despite himself, Draco felt moisture involuntarily settling in his eyes. He closed them tightly.

"She isn't here," he said hollowly.

"I know," Ginny whispered, grasping his hand. He stared down in bewilderment as she placed the ring back on his finger. "I need her, too. I haven't wanted to admit that for a very long time, but without her, what are we?"

"Nothing," Draco declared thickly. "I'm nothing without her."

"She's going to make it," Ginny said and Draco stared at her. "She's one hell of a fighter and she always has been. She's really afraid right now and she's tried so long to be brave, Malfoy. You have to be brave for her, so that she can be scared. You have to let her be scared. And you have to be there for her when she is."

Tears began to flower down her flushed cheeks and she continued guiltily, "She's gone so long thinking it was wrong to be afraid, to show others how scared she was. You have to be there to help her realize it's okay to be vulnerable, it's okay to trust."

"Why me?" Draco wondered.

"Because we have all tried and we haven't been enough," Ginny confessed sorrowfully. "Harry gave her a home, I gave her a hand to hold when the days got too dark, and Ron gave her his heart. Slowly, we brought her back to life but she's never been alive, Draco. Since she's started spending time with you, I've seen her change. I rejected it because I hated you for it. I hated all of you. But you could reach her in a way I never could. You brought a different way to look at things. You see the world the same way she does. You've brought life to her, laughter, fury. When she's with you, I see a new Hermione."

She swallowed.

"I've been so wrapped up in my jealousy and anger, I've forgotten what is most important," she continued tearfully. "She's not dead. She may not be the Hermione I knew, but she's still Hermione. She may be different, but her heart is still beating. She could have died last night if it hadn't been for you and that ring."

Draco was at a loss for words.

"She could have died and I never would have had the chance to say I was sorry," Ginny sobbed.

Draco, uncertain, squeezed her hand.

"She's already forgiven you," he assured her.

Ginny gave him a watery smile, nodding. "You know, ferret, as much as I don't like you or your posse, you've been good to her and you seem to really care about her."

"I do," Draco confirmed sternly. "We all do."

"And that's all that matters," Ginny said.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Clearing her throat and hastily wiping her tears, Ginny slid a fraction away from Draco.

"Come in," Draco said.

Harry stepped in.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, gazing at Ginny.

"We were done," Ginny said, smiling weakly.

"Curfew is almost near, Gin," Harry stated, wrapping his arms around her. "Ron is going to be escorting Neville back to the Gryffindor tower and Meredith will be escorting Blaise and Pansy. You should hurry and catch up with Neville and Ron."

"Why can't you escort me?" Ginny purred. "We haven't had a second alone since you've arrived."

"Er, as much as I would enjoy that, I need to speak to Draco, love," he said, tugging at his collar. "I promise, we'll get some alone time soon."

Ginny conceded and departed, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

"I hope she wasn't too rough on you," Harry chuckled. "May I?"

He gestured to the desk chair by Draco's window.

"Please," Draco allowed, sitting on his bed.

"You fulfilled your side of the bargain," Harry told him gravely, all humor gone. "Now it's my turn, I'm afraid."

Draco frowned. "How come I get the feeling I'm not going to enjoy what you're about to tell me?"

Harry's face hardened. "Because you won't."

* * *

><p>"May 15, 1998," Harry began. "You know the date well."<p>

Draco flinched. That was the day he and his family were first questioned.

The day his father was forced to admit all of the awful things he had done to protect his family.

The day Draco rolled up his sleeve and took responsibility for the wrongs he had done to stay safe.

"The rest of your hearing had to be rescheduled till June the first," Harry continued. "Do you remember why?"

Draco thought back to that day. "The Ministry was compromised. We were placed under lockdown for nearly three hours before they let us leave."

Harry nodded curtly, as if the memory was too painful to bear.

"What really happened that afternoon had to be kept from the press. If the truth had been leaked out to the press, chaos would have ensued. Our world was already so fragile after the war. If we had released what had happened, not only would there be panic, but more Death Eaters and Dark supporters would have taken the news as encouragement and proof that they could easily return to power."

Draco swallowed. "What happened, Potter?"

Harry inhaled sharply. "They came for me."

"Death Eaters?"

His green eyes were distant and pained. "She wouldn't let them take me. She made me invisible, swore up and down to them that I wasn't with them, that she had no idea where I was. She forced Ron to get me to safety. According to Mr. Weasley, who was the last to see her, they both put up quite the struggle. The last thing he remembers is her being tortured by an Unforgivable and then he was knocked unconscious. They left him because they knew she meant more to me at the time than Mr. Weasley did. He woke up several days later in St. Mungo's. By then it was too late and she was gone."

Draco paled. The room had gone cold.

"We spent weeks at our wits end. Ron was beside himself, I became reckless, I'd never seen Ginny cry so much. We were nothing without her. She was the clever one, the one that always got us through things, the one that knew what to do," Harry said. "So soon after losing so many people and suddenly she was ripped from us. The glue that held us all together was gone and we fell apart."

Harry swallowed painfully, sucking in a deep breath.

"To this day, we still don't know how she got away," Harry continued hoarsely. "Nearly two months later, some villagers in northern Liverpool found a deranged woman wandering around. She was carted to a nearby sick ward where the transferred her to St. Mungo's. She couldn't remember her name so they drew her blood and were able to pull up her file. We had alerted all government and hospital systems that she was red-listed, which meant that if she should show up there, they were to immediately contact the Minister of Magic."

Draco balked at him. "That woman, it was her?"

Harry sighed. "Yes. She wasn't recognizable when she was brought in for treatment. She was brought to us in nothing but rags. She was severely underweight to the point of starvation and her entire body, on every surface, was bruised, fractured, wounded. She had been cursed and tortured so much that they had to strap her down and sedate her three times a day to get her to cooperate with the invasive healing treatments they administered to her, to help remove the damage done to her by all the dark magic in her system. The first three days she was there she didn't speak, didn't eat. They had to nourish her through an IV. She was there for two straight weeks. Ron and I visited her every single day. Eventually, she remembered her name, our faces. Eventually, she was released to our care. She stayed at the Weasley's for a few days, but Hermione insisted she leave. She didn't want to burden Mrs. Weasley when they were still grieving over the death of their son."

Draco shook his head.

_Stupid, stubborn, self-less girl,_ he thought affectionately.

"She refused to let her parents know what had really happened to her, only that she needed some time away," Harry continued. "Her parents assumed she was just recovering after the war, but they still don't know the horror she had to endure just weeks after the fall of Hogwarts."

Draco's hands had begun to shake. How much had she been hiding to protect those she loved?

"It wasn't until we had to brief her at the Ministry that she unravelled and we witnessed a fraction of the painful depth and reality of what had happened to her." As Harry spoke, his voice quivered. "During her briefing, she attacked a Ministry official and then proceeded to hurt herself. Her results obviously came back as highly unstable and she was declared a danger to herself and others. She would need to have constant supervision. It was either the psych ward in St. Mungo's or my home. That night I brought her home with me to Grimmauld Place, made up a bed for her, had Ginny fetch her belongings from her parents."

Draco sucked in a breath, trying hard to stay calm.

"Are you okay?" Harry checked, surveying him.

"No," Draco stated. "But I have to know."

Harry nodded.

"Luckily, St. Mungo's had given me a prescription of highly potent medicinal sleeping draughts," Harry said. "If they hadn't, I'm not sure she would have survived the nights in that place. Even with the draughts, she still woke up screaming every night as if she was being murdered. I would rush into her room and she would be in the corner, sometimes with her hands over her eyes or her ears, rocking back and forth. Sometimes she would be clawing at herself, as if she was scrubbing herself clean of something. Other times I would find her sleep-walking, always searching for an escape even though she woke up every morning perfectly safe."

He pictured Hermione in his head, envisioning her actions. He himself had suffered from pretty heavy PTSD after the war, but nothing like what she had experienced.

"Do you know what happened to her while she…while she was gone?" Draco asked, his voice cracking.

Harry responded with a solemn look. "To an extent, but never to its full capacity. Whatever it was, it traumatized her to the core. At first she shut everyone out, lashing out whenever Ron would touch her. It was very hard on him - they had only just started dating when she was taken. We all lost a part of ourselves when she returned. There was this big, gaping hole in her soul that no one could mend, a place in her heart no one could penetrate. With time she got better. She started to eat, read, let Ginny do her hair, even look at herself in the mirror, but never for long periods of time or she would start shaking. She still had her rough moments, though. Sometimes, I would walk in on her gripping the wooden desk in the room she stayed in, like an animal clawing for release. Whenever she got stressed, I would notice how she would pick at the desk or at her skin and literally tear of strips of skin, like she was addicted to the pain."

Draco flinched, gazing down at his own wrists where the evidence of his own pain addiction and self-loathing lay hidden and translucent under the lamp-light. He remembered the many dark nights inside the castle before the Battle that made him reborn, where he wished he were dead. And the many bleak days that came after his pardoning, where he was washed with guilt for all he had been a part of and all those that had suffered because of his misjudgment and naivety.

"It amazes me how well she recovered in such a short period of time," Draco whispered. "To have all of that happen and just a few months later return to school and take on the responsibility of Head Girl? How did she do it?"

"She's Hermione Granger," Harry chuckled dryly. "And she hasn't fully recovered, Draco. You have to know that she never will."

"Will any of us ever be the same as we used to be?" Draco mused and then glanced up at the man sitting before him. "Thank you, Potter. So many things make so much more sense now."

"Treat her with care, Malfoy," Harry threatened, extending his hand out to Draco, as if asking for a truce. "When she wakes up from that coma, everything is going to change. I need to know you are prepared to deal with anything and everything that comes with that."

Draco swallowed sharply, steeling himself under Harry Potter's stern stare.

"You have my word," Draco vowed firmly. "We're going to catch this son of bitch, Potter, if it's the last thing I live to see."

He sat forward and clasped Harry's hand tightly.

When the two men let go, they knew nothing would ever be the same between them again.


	30. Awakening

_Alexandrite_

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter. This is purely for entertainment purposes.

**A/N: **And so the story continues. I know I've been sending you on a very eventful, exciting, and sometimes terrifying roller coaster these last few chapters, so this chapter will be a little calmer. It does have a special visitor arriving in it though that is sure to bring some further excitement.

Enjoy!

-Annie.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Nine<em>

_Awakening_

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><p><em>My love, leave yourself behind,<em>

_Beat inside me, leave you blind._

_My love, you have found peace._

_You were searching for relief. _

_My love, leave yourself behind,_

_Beat inside me, I'll be with you._

_"My Love"—Sia_

* * *

><p>Hermione woke with a gasp, as if her lungs were about to collapse.<p>

_I'm drowning,_ she thought in a panic, flailing around.

She couldn't see anything.

"Shh, Hermione, it's okay," soothed a familiar, deep voice. "Madame Promfrey, something's happening!"

Hermione shook violently. She so desperately wanted to open her eyes, move her hand. She tried, but she couldn't.

_What's happening to me? _she screamed in her head.

"Miss Granger, you are safe," comforted Madame Promfrey's soft voice. "What you are feeling is normal, try not to panic; it's just your body's way of waking up. I need you to concentrate on your breathing. Can you do that for me?"

Cold, sterile air filtered through her nostrils and into her lungs.

"Deep breath, in and out, just like that. Good girl."

Slowly, her heart stopped stammering and returned to a normal pace. She blinked, noticing the room coming back into focus, and took in her surroundings. She was in the hospital wing, lying down. Next to her was Madame Promfrey and a familiar boy with shaggy black hair and bright green eyes.

"Harry."

He found her hand and squeezed it.

"I'm here, you're okay," he assured her.

"What happened?" she whispered hoarsely.

"You were in a coma, Miss Granger," the elderly witch said carefully.

Hermione blinked tiredly.

"How long?" she croaked.

"Four days," Harry informed her. "You were attacked."

She blanched and the tremors started again. Panicked, Harry glanced warily up at Madame Pomfrey.

"Miss Granger, you're safe now," she told her softly. "Try and relax. Potter, perhaps it is best if you give her some time to rest."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Please."

Regarding her with some hesitance, the nurse finally nodded her consent. "I'll give you a moment."

"Hermione, what is the last thing you remember?" Harry wondered, watching as Madame Pomfrey entered her office and began shuffling through papers.

_You did this, you stupid bitch!_

Hermione shuddered.

"I felt sick," she began slowly. "I had a bath in the Prefects bathroom. I remember hearing a loud thumping outside the door."

"Go on," Harry urged.

"He came out of the stalls. I don't know how he got in," Hermione said shakily. "I don't know how I didn't notice him come in."

"Hermione, do you remember who attacked you? Did you recognize them? Are you sure it was a male?"

Hermione bit her lip to stay the trembling, willing herself not to choke on her sobs as she nodded.

"He rammed my head into the door and hexed me. I can't really remember much after that," Hermione replied. "I'm sorry. He wore a hood."

Harry nodded. "Ron went to look in the direction he took off, but we never found him."

The thought that her attacker was still in the castle, walking freely, made Hermione weak. Madame Pomfrey returned to her, glancing at the chart at the foot of her bed.

"Did you recognize anything else? Did he speak?"

"I'm sorry, I can't - "

"That's alright, dear," Madame Pomfrey interrupted, patting her hand and giving Harry a pointed look. "Just rest."

"Draco!" Hermione suddenly shouted, grabbing Harry's hand. "Harry, I have to - "

"He was here with you as much as he could be between classes," Harry explained, trying to calm her. "He's at dinner right now."

Hermione visibly relaxed and exhaled deeply. Harry cleared his throat, staring at her oddly, no doubt by her insistence on seeing Draco Malfoy.

"Would you like me to fetch him?" Harry asked slowly.

Hermione shook her head, despite how desperately she wished to see him, and bit her lip, avoiding his probing, curious eyes.

"How are you feeling, Miss Granger?" asked Madame Pomfrey, checking her vitals.

"I feel okay," she responded, assessing herself. "Will I be able to leave soon?"

Madame Pomfrey checked her chart again, musing.

"You're free to go, as long as you agree to come back here if you start experiencing memory loss, confusion, trouble concentrating or sleeping," the witch said sternly. "I'll prescribe you with a mild sleeping draught and I will write to your teachers, letting them know you must be removed from any strenuous physical task within the next few days. It's imperative you let your body heal and get used to functioning again."

Hermione conceded and Harry helped her to her feet. She swayed dangerously, gripping him tightly, a sudden pang in her forehead.

"Ow," she gasped.

"Are you okay?" Harry inquired. "Can you walk?"

Hermione shook her head, lowering herself back down onto the bed so that her head would stop spinning.

"Nothing to worry about," the nurse assured her, rolling out a wheelchair. "Just a bit of light-headedness. You'll feel too weak to walk for long periods of time over the next day or so. That's normal. Get as much walking in as you can, but don't overexert yourself. You've been through a lot and your body needs to adjust."

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey," Harry said, helping Hermione into the chair and wheeling her toward the doors of the hospital wing. "I'll escort you to your dorm."

When they arrived at the dorm, Hermione muttered the password and he pushed her through the threshold, helping her onto the sofa and lighting the fire.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked with a small, unsure smile.

It was strange being around him and Hermione frowned at how sad that made her feel.

"Some tea would be great, thank you," she replied politely. "There are some mugs in the cabinet left of the bookshelf. The tea should be in a tin can on the top shelf."

In a heap at the end of the couch was Draco's velvet forest green quilt, his initials etched into the right corner in silver thread - a Christmas present from Pansy. Wrapping the afghan around her chilled body and inhaling his fresh scent, Hermione frowned. Waking up next to the warmth of the fire seemed to help him relax quicker after a nightmare. He must have been sleeping on the couch at night, which meant his nightmares had only gotten more severe.

Harry removed two mugs from the cabinet and pointed his wand into them, filling them up a little more than halfway with warm water. Returning to the cabinet, Harry grabbed the tin can that held the tea packets and began digging through them.

"Spearmint, for you, obviously," Harry said, dunking her favorite tea into her mug and handing it to her.

She smiled, inhaling deeply as the minty steam curled up toward her nostrils. Harry returned to the tin of tea to pick out a packet for himself.

"There's lemon and ginger, dragon fruit, and pumpkin spice," Hermione listed off and then her brow wrinkled. "Actually, scratch that on the dragon fruit. Draco's probably finished them all off by now."

"I never pegged Malfoy as a fruity tea type," Harry chuckled and plucked out a packet of lemon and ginger tea.

Hermione smiled fondly. "He's got a bit of a sweet tooth."

"Is that right?" Harry snorted, coming to sit beside her.

"Yes, he loves anything sickly sweet and citrusy," Hermione said, nose crinkling.

"The exact opposite of your taste, then," Harry observed in amusement and then his face grew somber and his eyes clouded over, as they often did when he was in deep thought.

They sipped their tea quietly, the air growing suddenly awkward.

"Harry, listen," Hermione started, biting her lip. "I just wanted to say - "

"I know," Harry cut her off and his lips twitched upward slightly. "I'm sorry, too, 'Mione. I should have been a better friend."

Hermione sagged in relief.

"I could have been, also," she apologized. "So much has changed in such a short amount of time, I think we were all struggling to come to terms with everything. Especially me."

"You mean with Malfoy," Harry inferred.

"With so many things, " Hermione whispered, staring into the fire. She felt the heat of his eyes upon her. "Things are different now, Harry. He's changed. I've changed."

"We all have," Harry agreed. "You've come a long way, Mione."

Hermione flushed and they sipped their tea in silence until Harry broke it, speaking with some hesitance.

"He cares for you," Harry muttered and she sighed, clutching her tea tightly.

"I know."

"Do you?" Harry pressed.

Hermione met his soft, probing green eyes and swallowed.

"I can see it in the way he looks at you," he said knowingly. "You care for him as well. Your reaction in the hospital wing - he's the first one you thought of."

"Harry, it's hard to explain - " Hermione started but he held his hand up to stop her.

"I know everything," Harry told her and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

_What do you know?_ Hermione thought, heart racing as her mind flooded with a collection of memories.

Her meeting with Draco in compartment B11 as Head Boy and Girl, where their lives would change forever.

The night he and she had gone down to the dungeons for their rounds and he had stood up for her against the Slytherins.

The meeting in the library when he insisted she was in danger and vowed to protect her and she put her life in his hands.

The kiss on the Astronomy Tower on the eve of the masquerade that, even now, lit a fire so deep inside her she would forever be burned by it.

"The dreams?"

Harry nodded and her eyes widened.

"The… ring?"

"He told me everything," Harry explained. "_You_ should have told me."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry threw his fist down on the table, making it shudder underneath him. Hermione flinched as he glared at her.

"_Don't_ do that," he snapped fiercely. "You have to realize that you have strength in numbers."

"Harry, I don't need protection," Hermione said irritably.

"You evidently do," Harry grated. "Need I remind you that you just woke up from a _coma? _That you were _attacked_?"

His words sunk in and reality started to hit, hard.

"Promise me, you won't shut us out anymore," Harry urged her, his tone softer.

Hermione set down her tea.

"I'm quite tired," she responded thickly.

Frowning at her curt dismissal, he placed his mug on the coffee table.

"Just as well, I've got rounds."

The air hung heavy around her and she felt tears brimming. Inside, she was screaming, angry for her stubborn refusal for help, even when she knew she desperately needed it.

"I hope you can find it in you soon enough to trust me again, Hermione."

He stood, coming to her side and grabbing her hands. She sighed, squeezing his hands.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she mumbled sadly.

A tear dribbled down her cheek as she watched him pick up his cloak. Of all the people in her life, Harry had always been the one she had been able to lean on when things got tough. Until the summer that made her repel help from anyone but herself.

Gravely, Harry gave her a kiss on the forehead before leaving her in the warmth of the common room, alone with her dark thoughts. Finishing her tea, Hermione settled into the couch and drowsily stared into the fire.

Before she knew it, she was light being awakened by soft, warm fluttering touches on her face, then her hands. She opened her eyes. The fire had dimmed and the air was stuffy and warm, her body sweaty under the heavy velvet afghan. It slipped off of her shoulders as she propped up on her elbow, blinking blearily at the boy that knelt before her.

"I hate to wake you," Draco whispered, stroking the hair from her face, "but I haven't spoken to you in four days."

Without warning, Hermione threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her. She felt him sag beneath her as his arms encircled her.

"I've been so worried about you," Draco rasped, pulling away from her slowly and gazing into her eyes. "Don't _ever_ do that to me again."

Hermione let out a tearful laugh, reaching to embrace him again. His lips traced her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her hairline. His lips lingered above her lips, a whisper away. Her heart stammered and her lips parted as she gazed up into his eyes. More emotion than she had ever witnessed from him in that moment crossed his eyes. He looked as if he would kiss her.

He slowly pulled away from her, somewhat reluctantly, leaving her slightly dizzy. The shield was back up, blocking his emotions from his face. It staggered her and suddenly she felt overwhelmed.

"Let's get you to bed," Draco said after several seconds. "As much as I've missed you, you need your rest."

"I need to wash up first," Hermione protested, pouting.

He helped her to her feet and into the bathroom.

"Shower or bath?" Draco asked.

"Bath would probably be smarter," she said. "It's hard for me to stand."

She hissed as she took a seat on the edge of the bath, grabbing her ribcage.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, concerned.

"Everything's still mending," Hermione replied, patting his hand. "I have to take it kind of easy the next few days."

Draco's jaw tightened and, silent, he turned on the faucet, filling the tub with welcomingly warm water.

"Could you grab my pajamas? They're in the bottom drawer of my dresser in my room," Hermione said.

"Of course," he murmured and immediately disappeared from the washroom.

When he entered again, he placed the clothing on the counter, opened the cabinet under the sink to fetch something, and came to her side, holding out a bottle of green liquid.

"My bubble bath?" She smiled up at him, unscrewing the lid. A fresh, crisp eucalyptus scent wafted into the steamy bathroom and she inhaled.

"I thought it might help," he said.

"Thank you," she responded, squeezing his hand.

"I'll give you some privacy," he said, backing toward the door. "Ill be right outside if you need me."

Once he had departed, Hermione peeled off her clothes, wincing. She cringed at the dark bruising on her body and was grateful for the bubbles that hid her body as she sunk slowly into the bath water. For the second time that night, she found herself nodding off. She woke to the soft rap of knuckles on the bathroom door.

"Hermione?"

"Be out in a moment," Hermione called.

"You've been in there for a while," Draco said through the door. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine!" she insisted, gripping the tub and hoisting herself onto the edge, hissing through her teeth.

The tiled room spun around her as pain stabbed around her body. When she could stand movement again, she wrapped a nearby towel around her as she let out the now lukewarm bath water and dried off. Standing gingerly, she slipped on the clothes Draco had brought down for her - a pair of sweatpants and a black tank top, and some underwear. She blushed at the thought of him rummaging through her underwear drawer.

He was propped on the coffee table, waiting for her.

"Would you like more tea?" he asked quietly, holding the two teacups in his hands.

Hermione couldn't help but notice the unasked question lingering in his eyes at the sight of the two cups. She sighed and shook her head, extending her hand out for him to hold. He set the mugs on the table and took her offered hand.

"Harry escorted me back here earlier while you were at dinner. He made me tea and we talked."

Draco looked suddenly guilty.

"I had to tell him, Hermione," he explained. "When I pulled you out of that water, I thought I had lost you forever. When I realized you were alive, I never wanted to feel like that again, and I would do everything in my power to make sure this wouldn't happen again. I tried to respect your wishes in not telling anyone, but it just got a million times worse and you weren't there to make that decision anymore."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Draco, I understand. I'm not upset. I would have done the same thing had the roles been reversed."

The thought made Hermione's insides squirm uncomfortably and she quickly dashed the image of his lifeless body from her mind.

"You need your rest," Draco reminded her, gently tugging her toward the staircase.

He opened her door for her and led her inside, switching on her lamp. Gingerly, Hermione lowered herself onto the welcoming bed and crawled under the sheets.

"Do you need anything else?" Draco asked, pulling up her blankets so she didn't have to reach for them.

She smiled and shook her head.

"I thought I should tell you, there are no classes tomorrow," Draco said. "Romilda Vane's funeral is tomorrow morning. They are opening the school for the funeral and parents and guardians will be permitted into the school to see their children. Breakfast will be after the funeral. And you're not going to be pleased by this next piece of information, but there are pleas to shut down the school again."

Hermione frowned deeply. "They can't, not after all of the work that was put into restoring it."

"It wouldn't be shut down permanently," Draco explained.

"I won't allow it," Hermione stated furiously. "I'll be damned if - "

"Cool it," Draco commanded, smirking. "We will take each day as it comes and make it clear in the appropriate moment what our opinions are."

Hermione sighed. "I would like to go to the funeral."

"I don't know if that's the best idea," Draco said, looking her over. "You are still weak and you need time to recover. You can hardly walk."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm going, Draco. That's not a request. I have a wheelchair; I'll be fine. I need to go."

After another minute of hesitance, he finally relented and nodded. "Fine, but I will attend with you and you will use the wheelchair. If you start feeling ill or like it's too much, I'm taking you back to the dorm."

"Fine," she snipped.

He smirked at her once more and then headed toward the door. "I'll let you sleep. Would you like me to wake you tomorrow morning?"

Hermione nodded and he began closing the door.

"Draco, wait."

He paused, quirking an eyebrow.

"Will you - I mean if you don't mind - would you consider - ?"

"For Merlin's sake, Granger, just spit it out," he chuckled.

He only called her Granger when he was angry, irritated, or teasing her.

"Will you... stay with me?" she requested shyly.

His stormy gray eyes widened and a small smile graced his face.

"Of course," he answered, closing the door behind him. "Just until you fall asleep, then?"

Hermione bit her lip, feeling her face heat up as she nodded. He lowered himself down next to her on the opposite side of the bed, sitting atop her blankets, his hand brushing hers by accident. The sudden proximity made her heart dance strangely inside her chest.

"Will your parents be visiting tomorrow?" Hermione wondered and Draco nodded, pursing his lips tightly.

"Just my mother."

A pang infiltrated her heart at the thought of her own parents.

As if reading her thoughts, Draco said, "I wanted to owl your parents after the accident, when I heard that parent's were going to be permitted into the castle, but Potter advised me against it. He told me it wasn't something you would want, and if you were still in a coma that you wouldn't want them to worry. I just don't understand. Do you often keep your parents out of the loop like this?"

Hermione was touched and stunned by his willingness to write to her parents.

"They don't take quite kindly to me deciding to stay in the Wizarding World after everything that has happened. They knew of the War, that I was a head front in it, they know all about Harry, Dumbledore, and Voldemort. When Harry, Ron, and I set out to destroy the Horcruxes, I placed a memory spell on my parents and sent them to Australia where they remained until I was able to fetch them and restore their memories after the war ended," Hermione explained, bowing her head.

"We had a large argument after I filled them in about what had taken place that year. They wanted me to leave it all behind me, insisted it was too dangerous, and they didn't want me to return to school. The funny thing is, if they really knew the extent of what we all had to go through over the years, I'd never be able to leave my house again. I tell them very little about the scary things that take place in this part of my life, to protect them mostly, but also so they won't worry so much."

"That must get very lonely," Draco commented, placing his arm around her casually. "I mean, it is like you are living two lives."

"It is," Hermione agreed sadly.

"Do you think you will ever tell them the truth?" he wondered.

Hermione glanced at him. "Perhaps in time, I will."

"You should," he encouraged. "Anyway, enough talking. I'm keeping you awake. What will get you to sleep?"

Hermione smiled and gestured toward her small bookcase in the corner.

"Right, I should have known," Draco laughed, sauntering toward the small bookcase.

He crouched down, tapping his chin with his index finger. "Hm, which one? None of these look familiar to me."

"You choose," Hermione suggested and when he turned to her she laughed. "I'm serious! Just pick one that looks interesting. I trust your judgement."

"I wouldn't say that's wise, but very well," he mumbled and spent several more seconds scouring the shelves before plucking out her favorite copy of _Dracula_._  
><em>

"Good choice," Hermione approved as he plopped down next to her and handed her the title.

"Seemed interesting enough," Draco replied indifferently, shrugging.

"You do realize that this is a Muggle novel," Hermione said.

Draco glared at her. "But it is about vampires."

Hermione smiled. "Muggles know of vampires, Draco."

He blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, just like they know about werewolves and witches and trolls and goblins," Hermione listed off. "Of course, they believe they are nothing but stories, fantasy, and legend, but they have knowledge of them. Just not like wizards and witches do."

"Well, even so, I've read your silly Muggle novels before. I don't see why you're surprised. I bet most of your novels are Muggle-made."

"Actually, most of the books I own on that shelf are not Muggle-made," Hermione argued. "The Muggle books I own are mostly kept under my bed because I didn't have room for them in my bookcase."

Draco blanched, peeking under her bed.

"Bloody hell, woman, that's a lot of books." He whistled and sat upright again. Hermione passed him back the copy of _Dracula_.

"Why are you giving this back to me? Aren't you going to read it?" he wondered.

"My eyes hurt," she explained. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind reading it to me, just until I fall asleep, of course."

"Right, uh, sure," he agreed uncertainly and opened the book to its first page. "Jonathan Harker's journal, 3 May. Bistritz. Oh, Merlin, please don't tell me this all going to be about a bloke's bloody journal. Where are the vampires?"

"Draco, you just started!" Hermione scoffed. "Stop being impatient and just read. I promise you'll like it."

"You're daft," he muttered, but continued reading at her request and she relaxed against his shoulder.

She dreamt of large libraries in sleek, stone castles and warm fireplaces and her parents. All too soon, her dreams veered down a dark path and she looked on in horror as she watched the fireplace engulfed the castle, swallowing it in its burning mouth, its ember-like tongue swatting at nearby forests, sending them up in flames, searing her flesh. A hooded figure emerged from the fiery mouth, like a demonic force. She stared transfixed, crippled in terror, as he stalked toward her parents.

"_Incendio,_" he lashed and Hermione cried out, watching as her parents were captured by the flame, shrieking, crying out for her.

The figure threw back its head and cackled madly into the smoky night. Soon, she, too, was taken by the flames.

She flung herself up out of her nightmare and into the darkness of her room, chest heaving. Crying hysterically, she reached out for Draco but noticed he was no longer with her. He must have left after she'd fallen asleep and turned off the lamp. She switched it on, hugging her knees.

The door to her bedroom smacked against the stone wall as Draco entered in a panic, eyes ablaze and wand at the ready. He stood before her in nothing but a pair of gray drawstring pajama bottoms, breathing erratically.

"_What happened?_" he demanded tersely, eyes darting around the room and toward her closet, muscles taunt, jaw strained, and teeth clenched.

Hermione shook her head and it was then that he realized she was crying. Immediately, his face softened and he was at her side in her bed. She flung her arms around him, sobbing into his bare chest. He smelled like pine and spearmint and aftershave.

"Are you okay?" he panted, wrapping his arms around her. "I heard you screaming and I thought - "

"I'm fine," she assured him, sniffling. "It was just a nightmare."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked, stroking her hair.

She shook her head. "It was n-nothing. Stupid."

He hushed her and she felt his heartbeat slow to its normal pattern.

"I woke up and you were gone," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," he said, squeezing her tightly. "You fell asleep just shortly after Harker and the Count started discussing Transylvanian history."

She sat up, worn and tired, wiping the reaming tears from her face. The clock read 3:37 AM.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she apologized.

"Don't be," he assured her. "Can I get you anything, maybe some tea?"

"No, thank you," she replied softly. "You really should go back to bed."

"I'm wide awake," he protested.

"Me too," Hermione sighed.

"Would you like me to read to you again?" he proposed. "It was just starting to get interesting when you fell asleep."

"I would love that, if you don't mind," Hermione answered, allowing him to crawl next to her on her mattress. "And this time, when I fall asleep, don't leave."

Draco's eyebrows shot up.

"Are - Are you sure?" he stammered and Hermione felt his heartbeat quicken.

"I don't want to wake up alone again," Hermione confessed and Draco's lips twitched.

"I'll stay," he promised and slipped his feet under the covers. "Is this okay?"

She nodded, feeling her heart beat rapidly. He opened _Dracula_ once more and started reading again. She rested her head, feeling the slow rumble in his chest as he read to her. He read until she began to drift.

Hermione startled when something collided with her head and she realized Draco had dozed off, the novel slipping from his fingers. Slowly, she detached herself from him and placed the book on her nightstand, switching off the lamp. As her eyes adjusted, she looked at Draco, now fast asleep. He looked so tranquil and calm. She sunk into her pillow, surprised by how comfortable she felt in his presence.

In his sleep, Draco grumbled something and shot his arm out toward her side of the bed, reaching for something. It was only when he grasped her hand that she realized he had been searching for her. Letting out a sigh in his sleep, Draco shifted and turned on his side, still holding her hand.

He didn't let go, and as Hermione drifted off to sleep again, she distantly realized she didn't want him to.

* * *

><p>Hermione woke up with a start.<p>

She thought she had heard voices downstairs, but all was quiet.

The bed felt cold and she shivered as she turned over. Draco was nowhere in sight, his side of the bed wrinkled and the covers thrown back.

She hadn't even felt him leave the bed. Where had he gone?

With a start, she realized she didn't like not knowing where he was. She liked his presence, his body beside hers. She didn't like to be away from him.

Carefully, she got out of bed and made her way to the window.

The morning was biting and dark, the clouds an appropriate funeral black and gray. Outside, Hermione noticed a line of carriages arriving. Several, it seemed, had already arrived and were parked on the grounds.

The funeral would be starting soon.

With a sigh, Hermione made her bed and wandered over to her closet, wincing in pain as she did so, and began shifting through her wardrobe, searching for something funeral appropriate.

After some time, Hermione finally found a suitable option - a black lace number with lace sleeves and a round neck. Once she had it on, the dress reached modestly above her knee. She slipped on a pair of simple black flats and pearl earrings and touched her face up with a bit of make up.

Her hair, unfortunately, seemed as unruly as ever. She managed to pin it somewhat nicely in a curly up-do, a few stray tendrils framing her face. It would have to do.

"Knock, knock," came a familiar voice and Draco entered her room. "Oh, good, you're awake. I was just coming to get you up."

"Good morning," she said. "Would you mind zipping me up? It hurts for me to move my arm back that far."

Draco moved toward her and Hermione turned, revealing her back to him. She felt his fingers lightly brush her skin as he smoothly zipped up her dress and shivered.

"Thank you," she said, turning to face him.

"You look lovely," he said, squeezing her hand.

"As do you," she returned, noticing his normal black slacks, white Oxford shirt, cloak, and dress shoes. Instead of his normal Slytherin tie, however, he wore a simple black tie in its place.

"There's a bit of a draft in the castle this morning," Draco informed her, thoughtfully taking her cloak off the hook on the back of her door and placing it over her shoulders. She slipped her arms into it and pinned it at her collarbone.

"I feel so uneasy without my wand," Hermione complained, instinctively reaching into the pocket of her robes and finding them empty.

"I'm sure you can use a temporary one until we can get you another," Draco tried to comfort her, but to little avail.

"It's not the same."

"I know. Listen, the carriages arrived a bit sooner than I had thought they would. It seems my mother was one of the first to arrive."

Hermione froze.

"Your mother," she repeated.

"Yes, I went to fetch her downstairs just now and she insisted on seeing the Head dormitories for herself before the funeral. She's just downstairs in the Common Room. I would like to introduce you."

Hermione's throat was suddenly very dry.

"We've already met," she stated blandly, not at all excited about the prospect of seeing Narcissa Malfoy again.

"Hermione, you are the woman that has been living in close quarters for almost a year now with her one and only son," Draco reminded her and Hermione cringed. "You _are_ Head Girl. She knows who you are, but I would like to introduce you formally, if you don't mind."

"Oh, very well," Hermione conceded and Draco grinned.

"Don't be nervous," he urged.

Hermione nodded stiffly.

"You'll be fine. She doesn't bite, I promise."

"Draco, darling? Are you finished getting ready? I'd like to see the rest of your little place before the funeral starts."

Hermione and Draco shared a startled glance and sprang apart instinctively at the closeness of the other voice in the room.

"Mother," Draco greeted in surprise as Narcissa Malfoy appeared in the doorway of Hermione's bedroom with narrowed eyes. "Er, I would like to introduce Hermione Granger."

Hermione swallowed nails as she stared into the familiar and wintery blue eyes.

"Hermione, this is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."


	31. Healing

_Alexandrite_

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><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own one shred's worth of Harry Potter. This is purely for entertainment purposes.

****Warning:** _This chapter contains mature content._**

**A/N**: Some of you may complain that this chapter is too long. For those of you who share this mindset, I apologize. This is probably the longest chapter I have ever released. For those of you who may appreciate the length of this chapter, I hope you will also enjoy the content. I am sorry that it has taken so long to update. I had not planned on writing such a long chapter, but I believe it was needed. Once again, I would love to hear from all of you and your thoughts on this chapter. If you have any questions, please write me a review or send me a PM.

Enjoy!

-Annie.

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><p><em>Chapter Thirty<em>

_Healing_

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><p><em>Undress these beautiful lies<br>Blind me with animal eyes  
>Carve your heart into mine<br>__Brush me with venomous lips__  
>Tear me to passionate strips<br>Stir up the beast inside  
><em>_Take me for all I'm worth__  
>Touch me until it hurts<br>Until it hurts  
>Until my body burns<br>Love me until it hurts  
>Until it hurts<em>

_"Until It Hurts"—Francisca Hall_

* * *

><p>Narcissa did not respond or acknowledge Hermione, instead she stepped through the threshold and into Hermione's bedroom, walking about it as if it were her own. She seemed to be inspecting the room. Hermione flattened her palms against her dress, wondering despite herself if Narcissa disapproved of her simple attire. Hermione regarded herself in horror as she realized she cared what Narcissa Malfoy thought of her.<p>

Why?

Why wasn't she _saying_ anything?

Hermione couldn't help but notice Narcissa's eyes drift over to Hermione's nightstand, most likely taking in the Muggle literature Draco had read to her last night. She silently thanked Merlin that she had the sense to make her bed earlier.

"The girl's room, I presume?" the blonde woman said.

"Yes, this is Hermione's room," Draco replied evenly, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. "I thought you were going to wait downstairs, Mother."

"You were taking quite a long time," Narcissa replied in a clipped tone. "Now I see why."

Narcissa glanced at Hermione expressionlessly and walked past her, toward her closet.

"Hm," was all she could manage and Hermione bit her lip.

It seemed that Draco got his tendency to effortlessly hide his emotions from his mother.

"Would you like to see my room, Mother?" Draco suggested, obviously uncomfortable. "After that, I can finish showing you the downstairs and we can attend the funeral."

"Very well," Narcissa agreed and brushed past Hermione.

Hermione looked at Draco uncertainly. Draco gave her a reassuring squeeze before following Narcissa from the room. Hermione waited several seconds, waiting to hear Draco's door open, and then scurried out her bedroom.

The stairs proved to be an impossible feat and Hermione soon found herself clutching her ribs and the railing so as to not fall to her death. She had made it halfway down the steps by herself. She didn't know whether this should be frustrating her or pleasing her more - seemed about equal at the moment.

"Hermione!" exclaimed Draco, appearing at the top of the steps. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Argh," she gasped, pivoting in surprise before collapsing.

"Draco, what is all the commotion?" came Narcissa's shrill voice.

"Are you out of your mind?" Draco scolded her, darting to her side and ignoring his mother. "You are supposed to be taking it easy!"

"Forgive me for assuming that descending stairs would be a doable feat!" Hermione snapped, hissing as Draco assessed her.

Hermione was distantly aware of Narcissa's empowering presence and stiffened, detaching herself from him. Draco frowned at her.

"What on earth happened?" wondered Narcissa, squinting down at the two of them.

"Nothing, I've tripped is all," Hermione responded tightly, reaching for the railing to hoist herself up to a standing position.

"Don't be a hero, Granger," Draco snarled in her ear and, despite her fleeting attempt to wave him away, he helped her to her feet to help her down the remaining stairs.

"I can _do_ it," Hermione snapped, her face flushed, embarrassed that Draco's mother had to witness her this way.

Draco ignored her, helping her down the last few steps and she was grateful for his help. She gasped for air as she reached the Common Room and Draco deposited her onto the couch. Narcissa pulled Draco aside.

"Is she well?" she whispered to her son.

"She sustained some pretty serious injuries a few days ago," Draco answered and Hermione groaned inwardly, avoiding their probing eyes.

"Yes, it seems that way," Narcissa noted. "She's bruised quite badly around her neck. That couldn't have been due to a clumsy trip down the stairs."

"She was attacked," Draco informed her softly.

"_Attacked?_ What on earth do you mean _attacked?" _

"I mean someone hunted her down, waited for her to be alone, attacked an Auror, and assaulted her and tortured her with Unforgivables, nearly killed her," Draco grated and Narcissa's eyebrows shot up.

Whether her reaction was geared more toward her son's reaction to the story or the actual events themselves, Hermione could not decipher.

"Draco, please," Hermione interrupted, flustered. "I am sure your mother doesn't want to hear about this."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger, but you do not speak for me," Narcissa interjected dismissively. "If you are to be collapsing at any given moment in my presence this morning, I should like to know why. Continue, Draco."

Hermione's jaw dropped and Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We believe that the person that murdered Romilda Vane was the one that attacked Hermione. She was in the hospital wing until last night."

"You mean to tell me that they still haven't caught the deviant?" Narcissa cawed. "If only your father knew about this."

"Oh, yes, _please,_ Mother, _tell_ me what Father would say about all of this," Draco scoffed.

Narcissa raised a warning finger at her son.

"Why is he not here? _Hm? _Was it the same reason he wasn't with us at Christmas?"

"This is not the place to discuss private affairs," Narcissa chastised, her eyes briefly flickering to Hermione, who in turn cast her eyes politely aside.

"For God's sake, Mother," Draco laughed darkly. "I think I have a right to know where my damned father is. A student is murdered at my school and he doesn't bother to show?"

"You are creating a scene," Narcissa chided. "I won't have you speaking this way to me in the presence of - "

_Here it comes, _Hermione said, bracing herself for harsh words or name-calling.

"Mother, Hermione will be by my side the entire time you are here," Draco cut her off firmly and Narcissa blinked rapidly.

It seemed to be a struggle for Narcissa to remain stone faced.

"This will not be changing in light of certain events. She is Head Girl and she is my partner and we have a duty to the school and to each other," Draco reminded his mother tensely. "I had hoped to ask my father some questions and would like to know where he is, why he is not here with you and made you travel alone, and how I can reach him."

Narcissa lifted her chin defiantly and opened her mouth to argue, but as she looked at her son and the way he towered over her, something seemed to shift and she closed her mouth, a strange ray of emotion gracing her face.

Pride.

"He had some business to attend to regarding some of our assets and accounts."

And just like that, she became expressionless once more.

"Why is he securing our accounts right now?" Draco wondered. "Doesn't that strike you as odd? He only checks on our accounts at the beginning and end of each year. He already checked the accounts in January, why would he need to do so now?"

"You'll simply need to ask your father that upon his return. Now, I'm certain we must be running behind now, and as Head Boy, I would hate for you to be late to such an important scene."

Draco relented, tearing himself away from his agitated mother, visibly upset. He helped Hermione off the couch, placing his hand on the small of her back as he led her to the wheelchair by the portrait hole. Hermione tried and failed to hide her grimace of pain as he lowered her into the chair.

"There's going to be a bump," he warned, lifting her up out of the common room and into the hallway, followed closely by Narcissa.

Hermione could feel Narcissa's cold blue eyes burning curiously into the back of her head. Hermione swallowed several times in discomfort. The thought of spending more than a few minutes in the presence of Draco's mother terrified her.

Hermione was grateful once they had arrived at the Great Hall and immediately became uncomfortable again as everyone turned to watch Draco wheel her through the crowd and up toward their seating arrangement with the faculty. Hermione slipped into the seat next to Professor Thorne and Draco took his seat next to her, squeezing her hand.

"I'm glad to see you are out of the hospital wing, Miss Granger," greeted Professor Thorne, patting her knee. "We've missed you."

Hermione smiled up at him. "Thank you, sir, and thank you for the book. It's always a fantastic read."

"Your favorite, as I recall," he said and she blushed, remembering the first day of Thorne's class when she showed up before anyone else and they had a pleasant conversation about the very same book to pass the time before class started.

"Yes, it is, I'm happy you remember."

"Ahem."

Hermione turned to Draco.

"Yes?"

"Nothing," he said, blinking his steely gray eyes.

"You said, 'ahem'," Hermione reminded him pointedly.

"I must have been clearing my throat," he said snobbishly.

"Very well," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes at his oddly childish behavior.

"Anyway, it's starting, so you should probably be quiet," Draco snapped.

Hermione ignored him and turned her attention toward McGonagall as she approached the podium to give her introduction and express her condolences to the Vane family.

The funeral itself was a long and tragic event. Many tears were shed and sorrows expressed. Several students had to remove themselves from the Great Hall in sobs, escorted by an Auror to calm in the corridor. Gina barely made it five minutes into her speech about her best friend until she, too, was ushered from the Great Hall. Hermione listened in guilty fervor as Romilda's mother and father, older sister, and younger brother said their goodbyes.

Despite herself, Hermione began to feel moisture pricking unwanted at her eyes. As if reading her tormented thoughts, Draco placed his hand on her knee and leaned toward her ear.

"It's not your fault. Stop it."

When the funeral was over, several students and parents were released into the hall for a break. Breakfast was soon served and Draco wheeled her over to the Slytherin table where Narcissa sat patiently.

"What are you doing?" Hermione wondered. "Have you forgotten my table is the one in front of yours?"

"I'm sure McGonagall won't mind the Slytherin House and Gryffindor House having a meal together. I meant it when I said you won't be leaving my side today."

"You're so overprotective," she whined. "I'm fine."

"That very well may be true, but I'm in control of the wheel chair and you can only limp so far," he reminded her, smirking as he helped her onto the bench across from his mother, who was eying them suspiciously.

"Draco, you didn't tell me that Miss Granger would be joining us," Narcissa said, tearing open a packet of Earl Grey and daintily stirring it in her teacup.

"Oh, I - " Hermione stammered, aiming a kick at Draco under the table.

"I insisted," Draco claimed boldly, reaching for the coffee. "Hope you don't mind, Mother."

"Quite fine," Narcissa said, passing Hermione a basket of breakfast tea and hot cocoa packets. "Do you prefer Earl Grey or English Breakfast tea, Miss Granger?"

"I actually prefer green tea in the mornings," Hermione replied slowly, distracted by Draco.

"You don't drink coffee," she declared, staring at him in surprise as he poured himself a large cup of the steaming black liquid.

Narcissa quirked an eyebrow at her knowledge of this.

"Yes, Draco," Narcissa chimed. "You usually prefer pumpkin juice."

"I'm going to need the extra pick me up if I'm to be dealing with _both_ of you today," Draco teased, hiding his yawn with the back of his hand.

Hermione immediately knew why he had reached for the coffee and felt guilty. She had woken him with her nightmare and kept him up for most of the morning before they had fallen asleep.

"Sugar and cream?" Hermione suggested, passing the sugar bowl and creamer to him.

"You know me well," he said by way of thank you, and dropped in a hefty amount of sugar, making Hermione cringe.

"Morning, loves," Pansy greeted, suddenly appearing at their side. She pecked Draco on the cheek before sliding in next to Hermione and giving her a swift hug. "I didn't know you were joining the Slytherins, Hermione, but I say it is about damned time."

"Really, Pandora, the way you talk, you'd think you were raised in the sewer," Narcissa chided.

Hermione nearly spat out her green tea and began coughing something quite awful.

"Miss Granger, are you quite alright?" Narcissa exclaimed, frowning and passing her a napkin.

Hermione nodded, accepting the napkin to cough in, and Draco clapped her presently on the back.

"Swallowed wrong," she rasped after her coughing fit had subsided.

She glanced at Draco who was smirking at her and whispered, "Pandora?"

"It's her given name," Draco replied quietly. "And no one but Mother has ever gotten away with calling her such, so don't go getting any ideas."

They snickered.

"Is she always this clumsy?" questioned Narcissa, glancing from Hermione and then over at her son.

"Only on Tuesdays," Draco joked and Narcissa furrowed her thin eyebrows.

"It isn't Tuesday," his mother protested. "And why would she only be clumsy on Tuesdays?"

Draco smirked and Narcissa finally caught on. "Ah, you're jesting. Really, Draco, it's far too early for your shenanigans."

"Yes, Mother dear," Draco agreed and they shared a smile.

Hermione was astounded. Narcissa Malfoy really was quite stunning with a smile.

"Narcissa, I didn't know you would be here today," Pansy greeted, failing to hide her annoyance with the imperious blonde woman. "A pleasure as always. Is Lucius with you?"

"No, he couldn't make it," Narcissa replied easily, cutting her breakfast ham into tiny squares. "His business travels wouldn't allow for it."

"Shame," Pansy said, though she didn't sound surprised.

What did Pansy know? What was going on with Draco's parents?

The table soon filled with appreciated silence as they each attended to their breakfast.

"So, Miss Granger," Narcissa said, delicately sipping her tea before placing it on the table. "What is it you want to do after you graduate?"

Hermione swallowed, hoping she wasn't showing how uncomfortable she was. The very fact that Draco's mother was acknowledging her presence and making small talk with her put her on edge.

"Oh, Narcissa," Pansy giggled. "You'll get quite a kick out of this one. She wants to change the world."

"Why would I presume this aspiration to be amusing, dear?" Narcissa questioned Pansy. "It sounds quite ambitious, changing the world. Is that what you wish to do, Miss Granger? Do you believe the world needs changing?"

This seemed to be a trick question, so Hermione avoided answering it directly.

"I'm not quite certain what I will do once I graduate. I hope to be a driving force in magical creature rights, especially house-elf enslavement."

Narcissa's lips seemed to recede thinner at the mention of house-elf rights and Draco cleared his throat, indicating she should quickly change the subject.

"One day I also hope to gain a position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, preferably in research. Although, I wouldn't mind the legal department."

"Legal department? What business would you have in that department?"

"Well, since you asked, I find a majority of our laws in the Wizarding World to be quite embarrassingly biased, completely one sided, and thoroughly unjust," Hermione stated. Beside her, she felt Draco tense and groan. Pansy, however, seemed to be very jubilant at the direction the conversation was headed.

"I feel that our Ministry and community should pride itself with equal tolerance of every witch and wizard and start measuring society and crime based on the individual and their rights and actions and not purely on blood status. I don't think that blood status should even be considered and I find it completely irrelevant."

Draco seemed to be growing paler by the second.

"Sounds like an important and ambitious career plan," Narcissa responded tersely. "And you really think that someone like yourself can make such vast changes in a government that has been established with the same laws for centuries?"

"I have every confidence I can," Hermione replied, not wavering. "It's about time we stopped medieval practices, I should think."

Hermione dared a glance at the woman, spying a reaction. Narcissa, however, was quite unreadable. Before Naricssa could bombard her with another flurry of questions, Blaise Zabini appeared at the table, slipping in next to Draco.

"Narcissa, looking fetching as always," he greeted, kissing her hand from across the table.

"I see you haven't changed a bit," Narcissa chuckled, quickly engaging in conversation with him.

"Saved by the Italian," muttered Pansy, winking at her. Her indigo eyes suddenly caught notice of something ahead and darkened significantly. "It looks like you are wanted by something ginger and annoying."

Following her gaze, Hermione's eyes fell on Ginny, who stood a few paces away, gazing at the Slytherin table uncertainly, hugging her arms to her chest.

"If you'll please excuse me," Hermione said, attempting to rise from the table.

Responding to her movement, Draco stood and helped her over to Ginny.

"I'll just be over here if you need me," Draco whispered and turned to Ginny. "Don't keep her too long, she isn't supposed to be standing for long periods of time."

Ginny nodded and Hermione was surprised by how civil they interacted with each other.

"I was hoping we could catch up," Ginny started.

"I'd like that, but I'm afraid now isn't a great time," Hermione said, glancing at Draco. "Draco and I need to meet with the Vane family, give our condolences. It's important that we stay the entire breakfast and the remainder of the socialization for Romilda, to show our support."

"Of course," Ginny said. "I can't believe she's really dead."

Hermione bit her lip.

"When do you think you'll be done socializing?" Ginny pondered.

"I would imagine around early afternoon," Hermione replied.

"Want to plan on meeting after?" Ginny pressed.

"Sure, around one or two would probably be best. That way, Draco can attend lunch with his mother. He's forbidden me from leaving his sight today, but I'm sure I can convince him to let me sneak away for a bit."

"Let's plan on two. Our usual spot?" Ginny suggested and Hermione nodded, surprised that Ginny still hadn't remarked on anything regarding Draco.

"Looking forward to it," Hermione whispered, emotion finally hitting her.

"Me too," Ginny said, rubbing her arm. "I'll see you then. Give Malfoy my best."

With that, the slim redhead retreated back to her table and Draco swooped Hermione back to her breakfast.

* * *

><p>It had started to snow. Outside, the air was thick and white, powerful winter winds rattling the library windows.<p>

"I'm glad you agreed to meet me," Ginny said finally. "I've missed you."

Hermione smiled. "I missed you to, Gin."

"Well, I should head back. Mum and Dad will be wanting to see me before they leave," Ginny said, excusing herself from their table in the corner.

"It was good to see you," Hermione said, standing with her to give her an awkward embrace.

"I'm glad you're alive," Ginny whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion. "I was so afraid when I heard the news. I thought I would never get a chance to apologize."

Hermione brushed her off. "Don't. It's fine, Ginny. No one could have predicted all that's happened."

"Just don't shut me out anymore, okay? Be brave, be vulnerable, it's okay to feel scared and to feel pain and to love. Admitting those strong feelings will be the bravest thing you'll do. Can you promise me that?"

"I promise I'll try," Hermione agreed.

"Want me to help you back?" Ginny offered and Hermione sighed, reluctantly agreeing.

Ginny wheeled Hermione back to her Head dorm, giving her another hug.

"You know, he's not awful," Ginny admitted and it took Hermione a second to gather who she was talking about. Ginny gave her a small, uncertain smile. "Malfoy, I mean. "

Hermione swallowed, finding it hard to form words.

"Now, let's get you in there before Malfoy has a panic attack and sticks my head on a spike for keeping you away for so long," Ginny mumbled, rolling her eyes.

Hermione muttered the password and the portrait hole swung open. Immediately, Draco stood from the couch where he sat with his mother and moved toward her.

"Glad you brought her back in one piece," Draco said, nodding at Ginny as she wheeled Hermione into the Common Room.

Their interactions with one another were curt, brisk, guarded, and to the point, but there didn't seem to be any hatred toward one another. Hermione visibly relaxed.

Ginny gave her farewell and exited the portrait hole to track down her family. From her spot on the couch, Narcissa Malfoy cleared her throat daintily, her icy blue eyes focused on Hermione.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa greeted.

She seemed much more relaxed than earlier, even though she sat rim-rod straight, expressionless, and barely moved.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione returned. "I hope you've had a nice visit?"

"Certainly," Narcissa said. "Draco's made sure to keep me entertained. We were just sitting down for tea if you'd like to join us."

Hermione balked, looking up at Draco. Was Narcissa Malfoy actually inviting her to _tea? _In her own Common Room? Draco nodded reassuringly and helped her onto the couch.

"Actually, Blaise was the one that did most of the entertaining," Draco corrected, fixing Hermione a cup of spearmint tea. "Pansy and Blaise showed her around the castle; she hasn't seen it since it has been restored."

"Your little meeting went well, I presume?" Narcissa asked, referring to Hermione's absence from them, and Hermione cleared her throat, surprised that Naricssa was once again addressing her.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione managed politely.

Narcissa smiled thinly as Draco passed Hermione the tea, sitting beside her. After a few tense and silent seconds, Narcissa finally set down her tea and folded her hands in her lap.

"Draco darling, I would like a word with Miss Granger alone," Narcissa addressed her son.

Next to her, Draco tensed, and Hermione suddenly saw black.

"You - what?" Draco stammered.

"I'm quite certain you don't have trouble hearing, dear," Narcissa pointed out. "Miss Granger and I would like some privacy, if you don't mind."

_No! _Hermione shouted inwardly, desperately trying to hold onto her sanity, _Don't you dare leave me alone with that woman, Draco Malfoy! Don't you _dare.

Draco shot her an apologetic glance as he stood.

"Very well, Mother," he said through his teeth. "And where do you propose I go while you two have your little hen party?"

"Oh, don't be dramatic, Draco," Narcissa scoffed. "Just go to your room for a moment and read a book. We won't be long."

Hermione couldn't breathe. She watched Draco ascend the stairs, silently pleading for him to turn around and refuse to leave her behind with his terrifying mother. Her prayers were short lived however.

Narcissa caught Hermione's attention by raising her wand and muttering a small, "_Muffliato",_ making it so that Draco could not eavesdrop.

"Draco has taken quite an interest in you."

Hermione's teacup shook in her hands. Steeling herself, she placed the cup on the coffee table.

"Is that right?" she asked uncomfortably.

"Are you claiming you have no knowledge of this?" Narcissa inquired, cocking her head to the side.

"Well, I'm just not quite sure what you mean," Hermione answered.

Where was she going with this?

"You perceive yourself to be a clever girl, isn't that right, Miss Granger?" Narcissa asked and Hermione stiffened, choosing not to say anything on this. "Surely, a woman that holds such intelligence as to be labeled the 'brightest witch of her age' by several, would understand a question as simple as this."

Hermione's fingers began to drum on her knee.

"My son has changed, Miss Granger," Narcissa mentioned conversationally, eyeing her reaction carefully. "And I have to wonder if this change was caused by you."

Hermione's stomach squirmed. "Why would you think I'm responsible for your son's so called changes?"

"Do you deny he has changed?" Narcissa wondered, leaning forward.

"N-No, I only meant - " Hermione stuttered.

"I found myself wondering what could have caused this drastic change in him in such a short period of time," the woman continued, cutting Hermione off. "Obviously, a great deal of it was coming back here as Head Boy, the added responsibility, the lack of troublesome friends, and his newfound desire for independence. But this alone would not have been responsible for the change I saw in him when he met me outside the castle this morning. He's changed significantly, even since Christmas."

Hermione listened carefully, trying and failing to understand where this conversation was headed.

"He's different," Narcissa continued, her tone slightly accusatory. "And I believe you are responsible."

"_M-Me?"_ Hermione stammered.

"Hm, I believe I made that undeniably clear just now," Narcissa stated dryly. "You've had an influence on him."

"Mrs. Malfoy, forgive me, but I'm not exactly sure what you are insinuating," Hermione said boldly.

"Perhaps I should be more specific, then," Narcissa responded irritably. "You've taken an interest in him, that much is clear. What caused this?"

"I wanted to get to know him better," Hermione replied uncertainly.

"Because of the Head duties, I assume."

"It started out that way, certainly. There was no way we could set an example to the students as a united front if we were harsh to each other. I began seeing a side of him that I never had before," Hermione admitted, feeling on edge and defensive.

Somehow, she still found it in her to remain composed.

"What are your intentions with my son?" Narcissa asked, finally dropping the bomb.

"I-Intentions?"

"You had no interest in my son until recently, in fact, as I remember, you were often quite rude to him. At one point, I recall you even assaulting him on these very grounds."

Hermione blushed heavily.

_If anyone was rude, it was your son!_

"I have no intentions with Draco," Hermione said. "Other than to get to know him better."

"Well, then, I'll just cut to the chase, shall I?" Narcissa proposed and Hermione nearly fell out of her seat in relief.

From behind her, Narcissa pulled out a thin purple velvet box. Hermione started when she realized it was the very same case that held the pendant Draco had given her. Narcissa opened the case with a crisp _snap_, revealing the shimmering jeweled pendant resting inside. It gleamed a gorgeous violet blue in the firelight.

"How did you - ?"

"I noticed this box on your vanity as I left your bedroom this morning," Narcissa confessed leisurely, taking out the pendant.

It swung delicately from her long, manicured fingers.

"When you left for your meeting in the library and Draco's friends had finished showing me the castle, Draco and I returned here," Narcissa informed her. "All day I haven't been able to get this little box out of my head. I had to be sure it was the very same."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"While Draco was in the restroom, I stole upstairs and took the box, and I realized something very alarming in that moment," Narcissa said.

There was a pregnant pause as Narcissa took Hermione's hand and placed the pendant in her palm. As Hermione's flesh met with the stone, it turned a brilliant purple.

"My son is in love with you, Miss Granger," Narcissa declared.

Hermione froze, allowing Narcissa to grip her arm with her cold fingers.

"He doesn't have to say it," Draco's mother explained. "He isn't very good at communicating his emotions. Perhaps he has already given you the same declaration - that is between the both of you - but in case he hasn't come out and said it yet, you need to know his feelings for you are real and pure. You see, this was my Christmas gift to him. When I gave it to him, I asked him only one thing, and that was that he give this pendant to the woman he loves and cannot live without, the one he wants a future with. And he has chosen you."

Hermione feared her heart had stopped beating. Perhaps she was dead, or dreaming.

"Yet this remains in the box, untouched," Narcissa noticed, and curled Hermione's fingers around the jewel. "So you either do not love him or you do not know your feelings for my son. Either way, I must insist you seriously consider your feelings for him. You either need to put on this pendant and wear it proudly or give it and all it stands for back to him so that he can be set free."

Something clutched desperately at Hermione's heart and tears swelled in her eyes. Narcissa gave her a brisk pat on the hand.

"And for Merlin's sakes, girl, do _something_ about that _hair_."

She stood, waving her wand to release the silencing charm around the Common Room. Despite herself, Hermione found herself smirking.

"Draco, dear," Narcissa called.

At the sound of his footsteps, Hermione hastily pocketed the pendant in her robes and wiped the moisture from her face.

"I believe our dinner is waiting," Narcissa said upon Draco's return.

Draco threw his eyes back and forth between the two women, but Hermione could not meet his eyes.

"Will you be joining us, Miss Granger?" asked Narcissa.

Hermione's lips twitched and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

"No, thank you. I don't have much of an appetite at the moment," Hermione answered softly. "You two go on."

"You sure?" Draco asked.

"Yes, go see your mother off," Hermione insisted. "I'm fine, just a little tired. It's been a long day."

Draco nodded, still unsure. "Would you like me to bring you anything back?"

"No, thank you," Hermione said. "I think I'll just catch up on my studies ."

Much to her relief, Draco finally agreed and walked his mother toward the portrait hole.

"Until we meet again, Miss Granger," Narcissa offered as a goodbye, giving her a curt nod.

They disappeared before Hermione had the chance to return the sentiment.

* * *

><p>Studying could only do so much.<p>

As the sun sank low in the sky and the carriages began to pull away from the castle, Hermione's thoughts returned to her conversation with Narcissa. Feeling panic rise in her chest, she cast her textbooks aside, letting them fumble to the floor, and stole to her vanity, wincing slightly as she lowered herself onto the chair in front of it.

Even though the evening was cool and her windows were cracked, Hermione felt as if she were on fire. She blamed her anxiety, which had a tendency of sneaking up on her when she least expected it. Frustrated with herself, Hermione raked her fingers through her hair several times in an attempt to calm her racing heart and let her hair down. Once again, her attempts failed and she slammed her fist down on the vanity with such force, several items clattered to the floor.

Hermione swiveled on her chair and bent down to retrieve the fallen items - a pair of pearl earrings, a tube of peach colored lip gloss, some stray bobby pins she had managed to pluck from her curls, and the pendant. With a heavy sigh, Hermione snatched the necklace from the ground and gripped it tightly. The gem was cool and glossy, yet her palms began to moisten profusely, trembling. She stared down hard at the pendant.

"_I asked him only one thing, and that was that he give this pendant to the woman he loves and cannot live without."_

Despite her efforts to distract herself from Narcissa's words, Hermione would never be able to forget their conversation. Narcissa had forced her to face the thing that she had been running from since the masquerade ball.

_"He has chosen you_."

Narcissa would not lie to Hermione about something like this, something involving her one and only son and his feelings for a muggle-born girl. Swallowing with difficulty, Hermione lifted the pendant up to her neck and dared a glance at herself in the mirror. It hung elegantly against the porcelain of her neck.

Suddenly, Hermione was aware of a second presence in her room and she stiffened, turning. He lounged in her doorway, leaning against the frame. His eyes were a cloudy gray, like a dark rainstorm.

"It looks lovely on you," he said with a smirk and she placed the necklace back on her vanity.

"How long have you been standing there?" she breathed, feeling unexplainably jittery at his presence. This morning she felt a sense of calm whenever he was near, but since her conversation with his mother, whenever he entered her thoughts, she was nothing more than a bundle of nerves and fire.

He came toward her, holding up a small bag and a steaming mug. "I just finished seeing my mother off. I know you said you'd be fine, but they prepared double chocolate chip muffins and hot chocolate for dessert, and I know they are your weakness."

Hermione smiled in return, taking the pastry and mug from him gratefully. "Thank you."

Draco nodded, sitting on the edge of her bed and loosening his tie. Hermione watched his movements as he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and she swallowed.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Draco said as an afterthought, smirking as Hermione sipped her hot chocolate.

Hermione shook her head, assuring him with a smile that he was welcome.

"How are you feeling?" he prompted, eying her carefully as she set down her mug.

"Better," she insisted.

He looked at her curiously and Hermione's heart took a nosedive.

"And Ginny? How did that go?" he wondered.

"Really well," Hermione replied evenly, astounded by the fact that he was asking about her friends.

Draco stared at her with penetrating eyes and Hermione's breathing faltered.

"Are you all right?" he questioned, obviously a little frustrated by her lack of conversation.

Nervously, Hermione tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and nodded.

"I'm fine."

Quietly, Draco stood, the corners of his lips turning downward. "Well, I should probably turn in."

He strode to the door, suddenly aloof, and panic seized Hermione.

She shot out her hand and clutched his sleeve. Startled, Draco halted and turned toward her. Electricity shot through her veins.

"What is it?" he grunted, annoyed.

"Draco, stay."

"_Why?_"

"Because I want you to," Hermione stammered, blushing.

"It didn't seem like it," Draco responded stiffly, watching her carefully. "I don't usually enjoy one sided conversations, you know."

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized. "I really am. I do want to talk, it has just been such a crazy day with the funeral and your mother and making up with Ginny. I've just had a lot on my mind."

Hermione could see him relaxing slightly as he returned to her.

"Talk to me about it, then," he offered, plopping on her bed once more and patting the space next to him, beckoning her to his side.

"My meeting with Ginny went better than I expected it to. She was very apologetic and we mainly just caught up on the small things. She filled me in on all the gossip, we talked about her family, about my situation," Hermione informed him quietly, unexplainable shy. "I'm actually glad she knows about what's been going on with me. It was nice to finally tell her what I've been going through. I've missed her."

"I'm glad she came around," Draco agreed teasingly, his trademark smirk curling up his lips. "And not just for you, but for me. You were beginning to get very needy."

Hermione stared down at her feet, smiling despite the hundreds of butterflies dancing around in her stomach.

"Is that all?" he pressed, serious now.

Hermione sighed heavily.

"I feel so guilty, Draco."

"About Romilda?"

She nodded. "Seeing her family like that…having to be with all of her friends and family all day…it was just incredibly hard for me. And I know that sounds completely ridiculous seeing as how I have no right to feel this way whatsoever. I wasn't close with her. Truly, I despised her. She was rude and selfish and inappropriate, but I still feel awful."

"It wasn't your fault," Draco insisted and Hermione rolled her eyes. "I mean it, Hermione. You can't take responsibility for someone else's actions. There were things we both could have done that may have prevented Romilda from being murdered, but realistically, she would have been killed eventually. Whoever killed her obviously didn't want her spilling their secrets and Romilda knew too much already. I'll bet you anything, her murderer had been planning on offing her long before she had a run-in with you."

"You're right, of course, but I still feel bad," Hermione confessed.

"That's okay," he comforted, rubbing his thumb over her hand.

"And you? How have you been doing?" she wondered, drawing light patterns on the back of his hand.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but when his eyes met hers, he pressed his lips together and turned away, slowly easing his hand from hers. The physical desertion left Hermione weak and scatter-brained.

"Hermione, I don't think you want to hear what I really feel," Draco muttered, bowing his head.

At this, Hermione's heart beat a little faster in anticipation. She slowly began to grow frustrated as she remembered the night of the masquerade when he had kissed her and walked away.

"Don't press me to open up and then push me away like you did on that tower."

Surprised by her sudden outburst, Draco turned to her, eyes wide and full of emotion.

Fear.

Anger.

And something else.

"How can you say that? Didn't I explain myself to you, hadn't you forgiven me for that?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I just meant - "

"I know what you meant," he grated.

"Draco, please, I'm sorry. It is just difficult for me to be open with you, with anyone. And I don't like the way it feels, but I…I trust you, Draco. And I just wish you felt the same way…like you did that night on the Astronomy Tower."

He stared at her disbelievingly, long and hard.

"I trust you with every part of me, Hermione," Draco said hoarsely. "The truth is, I'm _terrified_, all the time. I'm terrified that I'm going to wake up and you are going to be gone, terrified that I'll turn the corner and find you _dead_. I'm exhausted of constantly feeling this way all the time, knowing something much worse is going to happen any day now, and there's no way I can protect you."

"Draco - "

"No!" Draco shouted, suddenly overcome with so much emotion, it horrified her. "No, Hermione. Nothing you can say and nothing you can do can change the way I feel - the way I feel about you."

He gripped her tightly, turning her arm over to reveal the scar hidden under the lace of her dress, carved on her forearm.

_Mudblood._

Pushing back the lace sleeve, he pointed to her scar. Alarmed, she jolted, pushing away from him.

"Stop," she gasped, trying to pry her arm from his steel grip.

"I _watched_ my aunt do this to you, Hermione, and I did _nothing_ to stop her," he said forcefully, and his fingers traced the small white knife marks on her upper chest, given to her by the very aunt he spoke of. "Back then, all I cared about was surviving and the safety of my family and nothing else. I should have stopped her. I knew it was wrong, knew I had made the worst decision of my life by choosing to be a part of it, but I was too afraid to do anything else. Your screams have haunted me ever since."

Hermione couldn't bear to look at him.

"This is a part of you, Hermione, and it always will be," he told her, gesturing to the mark on her arm. "But this is not _who_ you are."

Hearing those words fall from his lips almost sent her overboard. She watched in amazement as he ripped back his own sleeve, revealing the tattoo that he would never be able to remove, and the healed slashes over the tattoo, indicating his past attempts at trying to be rid of it.

The Dark Mark.

"This will always be a part of me, Hermione. It will never go away and I've had time to deal with that, but I refuse to let it be who I am, because it is not," Draco said and she was stunned to see moisture in his eyes as he dared a glance at her.

He took her marked arm and placed it beside his.

"We are the same, Hermione Granger," Draco whispered.

Overcome, Hermione glanced away, trying hard not to cry.

"There's so many things I wish I could tell you," Hermione whispered, staring at her hands. "Things I've been through that made me this way…but I - I just…I can't. I'm not ready to face them yet."

Slowly, Draco raised her marked arm to his lips and kissed the marred skin. Hermione choked back a sob at his affection. No one had ever touched her there, not even Ron.

"I know," he said as he brushed back a few strand of hair that had escaped from her up-do and brushed a kiss over the marks on her neck, feather light. She felt her body tighten, horrible images of the man that had marked her there almost sending her into a panic, and the tears threatened to escape once more.

"But when you are ready," he continued, "I'll be here and I won't leave you, I won't judge you, and I won't stop caring for you."

She felt him softly press his lips against her ear and her entire body shivered, a jolt shooting up through her abdomen.

"I love you, Hermione," he whispered in her ear.

Suddenly, her entire world capsized and the tears flowed freely.

It was too fast.

She wasn't prepared.

Too soon. Too much.

She wished she could stop the words, stop them before they left his lips and coursed through her soul, engraving themselves on her heart, changing everything.

Her body shut down, her mind came to a full stop, and everything stopped moving.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Distantly, she heard Draco's despondent sigh, heard the creak of the bed as his weight lifted and he stood to leave her again, rejected.

Suddenly, a thousand emotions broke through her wall and flooded her body. Pain, hope, fear, longing.

Love.

Her eyes flashed over to the pendant on her vanity, to all it meant.

_"I must insist you seriously consider your feelings for him."_

Hermione abruptly stood, her heart pounding harder than it had in her entire life. Her body moved of its own accord, stepping forward.

_Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave -_

"Don't leave," Hermione croaked as he reached for her doorknob.

He paused by the door, sighing.

"It's for the best, Hermione," he said weakly, his back still turned to her.

_Do something,_ her thoughts shouted.

"Please."

"Hermione, let me go," he begged, and to her horror it sounded like he was crying.

_"You either need to put on this pendant and wear it proudly or give it and all it stands for back to him so that he can be set free."_

"I - I - can't," Hermione expressed.

_Be brave, be vulnerable, it's okay to feel scared and to feel pain and to love. Admitting those strong feelings will be the bravest thing you'll do.. _

Hermione swallowed as she recalled her conversation in the library with Ginny.

Draco slowly turned to face her, eyes wide.

"I can't let you go, Draco," Hermione repeated, braver this time, lifting her chin and striding over to him. "Because if I do, I will never forgive myself. You're the best thing in my life, the only thing that has given me purpose and hope in a long time."

Draco blinked rapidly, his eyebrows knitting together and his forehead creasing as he tried to work out just what she meant. Before he could, she grabbed his tie and pulled his head down toward her own.

"Nothing you can say will change the way I feel for you," she confessed, repeating his very own words, their noses touching. "Draco, I - "

Before she could even register what was really happening, Draco's lips were pressing desperately against her own. As if breathing for the first time in her life, Hermione gasped, returning his heated kiss as if it would be her last. Familiar electricity surged through her and an overwhelming warmth crawled into her chest, spreading down to her abdomen. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she sighed as his tongue brushed hers, teasing her. Breathing erratically, Draco practically fell over, clutching desperately to her as she heatedly raked her fingers through his thick hair.

Suddenly, Draco ripped away from her mouth and began to kiss her softly, repeatedly, sensually. Everywhere. Her neck, her earlobe, under her jaw, her tear-stained cheek, her collarbone. Panting heavily, they broke apart from each other. Hermione's eyes sought his and was stunned to see the shield completely down, bearing his emotions clear as day.

Vulnerable.

She had never seen so much utter _feeling_ emerge from Draco Malfoy. And in that moment, Hermione felt safer than she had her entire life. Safe being open, being vulnerable, being real.

"Hermione - I - " he panted, grasping her.

She pressed herself against him, seeking his lips once more, and his words were suddenly lost in a sea of fiery kisses. The deep and pleasant burning in her abdomen began to spread, her blood pumping victoriously in her throbbing veins. Her skin was fire everywhere he touched. She needed more and more and -

"_God!_" Draco gasped breathlessly, breaking their kiss, eyes wide as he retreated a step, keeping his hold around her waist.

Hermione bit her lip, flushing, her chest heaving.

"I really should try leaving you more often," Draco chuckled and Hermione glared at him.

"Never," she whispered, kissing his neck. She felt him inhale sharply and kissed him again, feeling his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

She glanced up at him through her lashes. His head was leaned back to allow her access to his neck and his eyes were jammed closed.

"Never again."

His eyes opened and he peered down at her in astonishment, grinning. His smile sent Hermione tumbling off the edge. Haggard breaths quietly ripped through his chest as Draco caressed his fingertips over the smooth skin of her throat, trailing them down toward her heart and stopping just short of her cleavage. She pulled him down to her lips in hunger, pressing her body flush against his once more.

A torturous sound ripped through his throat as he returned her passionate kiss, his hands exploring her curves – down the sides of her waist, along the lush slope of her hips, over the small of her back, around the curve of her bottom, along the line of her dress's hem, hiking it up, gripping her against him.

"Hermione," he murmured, nipping her ear.

Hermione hungrily raked her fingernails down his back in response and he let out a strangled breath. He pulled away again, as if trying to calm himself, his breaths rushing from his lungs like a harsh summer wind, leaving Hermione breathless.

"God, I love you," he whispered thickly, and opened his mouth to speak again but strong emotion seemed to prevent him from doing so.

Instead, he began to kiss her again, soft at first and swiftly more hungrily.

_Oh, how I want him!_ Hermione screamed in her head, quickly ridding him of his tie.

"I don't want to hurt you," Draco whispered as they edged toward her bed, his fingers gracing her ribcage.

"You won't," she insisted, wincing slightly. "Just be gentle there. It's still a bit sore."

Draco hesitated, obviously torn between his intense need for her and his desire to not hurt her.

"Put your hands on me, Draco," Hermione instructed and Draco trembled as she led his fingers to the soft mounds of her breasts. Inhaling deeply, Draco's eyes burned into hers and he roamed her body feverishly.

Hermione trembled at his touch. His hands moved toward her back where he released her dress's zipper, commanding her sleeves to fall from her shoulders, revealing the bare skin of her shoulders and back. She gasped a soft, unsteady breath as his fingers trailed boldly along her bare skin.

The folds of his shirt gaped open where she had unbuttoned, revealing his hard chest and the trail of golden hair that disappeared into the waistband on his dress pants. Hermione lifted trembling hands to press against his toned chest, appreciating the way his muscles flexed at her touch. He groaned against her mouth, and she trembled again at his reaction, wanting nothing more than to incite that response from him again. As her touch began to wander, doing away with the rest of his shirt's buttons, he grabbed her wrists.

"Lie back," he commanded, his words raspy yet controlled.

As she eased herself back slowly to the mattress, her eyes never leaving his, his uneven breathing quickly gave him away. He was very much far from controlled, Hermione noticed. Draco swallowed hard and Hermione's insides danced.

His hair, which was normally gelled to attractive perfection with not one hair out of place, was completely disheveled, falling wistfully into his brazen gray eyes. He was beautiful. She drew in a shaky breath, determined not to pounce on him like a wild beast. She watched appreciatively as he sat on the edge of her bed and removed his shoes and socks, and as he removed his smooth oxford shirt and set it down beside his shoes, she wanted nothing more than to have his long fingers on her heated flesh.

As he lowered himself above her on the bed, he seemed suddenly shy. Feeling the same, Hermione reached out to him, brushing her knuckles over his cheek, down to his strong jaw, caressing a path down his neck. His pulse throbbed madly beneath her fingers. Once more, his lips brushed hers and soon she was lost in his taste, lost in his scent. Her breaths sputtered out in short, shuddering waves as his teeth grazed her bottom lip, lightly tugging on it. She arched in response, letting out a small whimper.

Encouraged by the noise escaping her throat, Draco began to kiss her neck, trailing his expert tongue along the smooth flesh, raking his teeth against her pounding veins. Hermione whimpered again, louder this time, clutching his naked back and bringing him closer so that he lost all balance and he fell against her.

"Draco," she gasped urgently, as he continued marking her neck with vicious, heated kisses, "I … I …"

Her words were not cooperating, too distracted by the pressure of his hands now fettered tightly around her wrists, holding them above her head. Her mind was too foggy, her body too on fire.

With a low moan, he released her hands and began to roam her body in possessive caresses, firm enough to make her gasp yet gentle enough to not stir the pain in her ribs. His hand smoothed a path down her breast to her thigh, his fingers sparking a trail of fire down the bareness of her leg. Growling low in his chest, he hiked her thigh up around him and Hermione let out a needy gasp, her fingers lacing through his hair as she brought his lips back to hers, locking onto them with an intensity that alarmed even her.

Still wrapped in their passionate embrace, Hermione almost didn't notice Draco's nimble fingers along her skin, pulling down the front of her dress. Hermione's eyes flew open as Draco broke their kiss, tugging at the sleeves of her dress. Realizing what he wanted, Hermione shimmied out of her dress, falling back onto the burgundy sheets as Draco took the remainder of her dress and pulled it down her body. He gave another sharp tug, ridding Hermione of her lacy black material completely.

Hermione breathed heavily, watching as Draco hastily threw the dress over his shoulder and returned his eyes to her. His stormy gray eyes raked over her body, agonizingly slow. Transfixed, his fingers traced the long white marks on the skin of her stomach, her collarbone, the inside of her thighs. Self-conscious, Hermione moved to cover herself, feeling unexplainably ashamed.

"Don't," he demanded, his voice hard, stilling her hands.

Choking back a sob, Hermione sucked in a deep breath, fighting against her jerk reaction to flee. He continued to stare at her scars, at the sheer amount of all of her imperfections. Distantly, Hermione was reminded of Ron's reaction to her when he and Ginny had helped her undress one night after she'd been released from the hospital. She had been weak and sated with a tremendous amount of pain-numbing draughts, but nothing could numb the tears that leaked from Ginny's eyes and the disgust and rage that enveloped Ron's face. He had been so horrified, so angry, that he tore from the small room in the Black house and did not return until later the following afternoon. After that night, she never again let him touch her or see her.

But Draco was not Ron.

He started at her legs, brushing his lips softly against each of her scars. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, flashing against her will to the haunted memories of the madman that had torn her flesh, took pleasure in watching her blood flow.

_Tainted._

With each kiss he placed, her scars began to tingle, much like the sensation she felt in the hospital wing when her ribs would start to mend - painful twinges that stole her breath away and after, nothing but warm healing bliss. She jerked in response to the trail of kisses up her thigh and to her stomach. Her body shook freely now with silent sobs, but still he continued to kiss her marked flesh. Placing a final kiss on the scar over her light blue bra, just above her breast, he folded her into his arms, stroking her hair as she cried.

"You are the most beautiful woman on this earth," he told her with so much sincerity, it nearly knocked her breathless. "I love you... all of you."

In slow disbelief, she opened her eyes to stare into his stormy orbs. In his eyes, she found a strength she hadn't felt in a long time, and for the first time in her life she began to feel what he saw.

Beautiful.

Strong.

Safe.

Slowly, she traced her fingers along his forearms, feeling the ridges of his own scars. A new rush of hot tears swam to her eyes. Suddenly, as if to comfort her, Draco's lips began to caress her own.

"Hermione," he whispered gently against her lips.

Still, the tears continued and he finally lifted his lips from hers to whisper in her ear, "Hermione, it's okay."

He kissed her shoulder.

"It was a long time ago, for both of us. The only thing that matters now is you and me. This moment."

Hermione wanted to protest. Anything that had ever brought Draco this much pain should not be cast aside. All the pain he had to endure emotionally during his time within Voldemort's ranks…how intense and awful it must have been, for him to react with such hatred and loathing to himself in such a physical way.

"We are the same," she murmured softly, remembering his words from earlier.

Her words seemed to trigger something powerful within him and suddenly he was upon her, melting into her skin, electrifying her soul. Her need for him rose to a near exploding height and Hermione briefly felt her bra's restraints come loose. Her bared skin jolted with sensations at the feel of his warm hands and his wet mouth. The very same dark fire that erupted in his eyes as he devoured her form, even now threatened to consume every part of her.

She found it increasingly hard to breathe as their flesh finally connected and Draco gasped against her mouth. Her hips reacted on their own accord, bucking upward to meet his, eliciting a sharp groan from the man above her. Desperate for his warmth, her hands began to pull his belt loose from his trousers and she felt Draco tense even as her fingers shook.

"Off," Hermione ordered and Draco smirked down at her.

"Bossy, aren't we, Granger?" he teased.

The sultry way he addressed her with her surname sent a spark through her and she involuntarily clenched her thighs together. Her eyes darkened as he slid down his zipper and tossed aside his trousers, leaving him almost completely bare. Grasping him firmly, she threw him roughly on the mattress, crawling on top of him.

His breathing was so erratic as she settled atop him, she thought he might be hyperventilating.

"Alright, Malfoy?" she hummed seductively in his ear and he twitched beneath her.

All he could manage was a nod as she covered his pale skin with kisses from his chest to the trail of hair leading down, down, down -

"Merlin!" he hollered suddenly, panting and grasping her shoulders.

Before she could react, she was on her back once more, her body being ravaged pleasantly. Once more, her back arched and her hips twitched, causing Draco to do the same.

"Draco, please," she panted.

He hummed against her chest and she closed her eyes, arching into his hands.

"Are you sure?" she distantly heard him whisper breathlessly. "I - I won't be able to - to stop."

Suddenly, the entire room came back into focus and she stared up at him with a crazed intensity.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she replied honestly, kissing him softly.

As they made love, something beautiful and foreign emerged from inside her soul.

She was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming current rushing through her heart, spilling outward and overtaking everything else.

"What is it?" Draco gasped, his glistening brow furrowed in concern.

Hermione gazed up at him in awe, tears rushing to her eyes as the words tumbled gracefully from her lips.

"Draco, I love you."

His eyes were suddenly a hurricane, unleashing a sea of emotions as his mouth sought hers with more fierceness and determination than ever before.

And with every move, every gasp, every kiss, they began to heal each other.


End file.
